


Waifs and Strays

by Kyonomiko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-War, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 118,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22689250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyonomiko/pseuds/Kyonomiko
Summary: War leaves a lot of orphans in its wake. Hermione is one, by her own hand, and she struggles with the realities of her situation. When she finds an orphaned familiar, it seems meant to be, giving and receiving comfort helping to heal her fractured heart. Unfortunately, the animal is actually a wizard, and he has his own issues.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 1283
Kudos: 764
Collections: Kelly's Picks, dm fanfics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Desamparados y Callejeros](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28685286) by [Paandreablack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paandreablack/pseuds/Paandreablack)



> ::peeks in::
> 
> Hello :)
> 
> So this story has been in the works for literally years. Started in 2018, I am excited to finally begin sharing this with you, my first novel length since Looking Glass, as I just recently finished the climax. What remains of falling action will be written as I post. You can expect an update schedule of roughly twice per week. That should give me time for final edits, writing the last couple of chapters, and review replies, but keeping a nice pace.
> 
> All the love and thanks to my invaluable team. In Dreams, LightofEvolution, and MCal. You are all life, the universe, and everything. Thank you a thousand times.
> 
> One last thing, Disclaimer:
> 
> "But, Harry, I love you..."
> 
> He looks back, a hard expression on his face. "I'm not a toy, Kyonomiko. You don't own me."
> 
> You heard him folks: I don't own him.

_Eighth year._

Hermione Granger can't believe anything so mundane as her last year of school has come to its end. It doesn't seem possible, almost unjust, that something so very normal as her formal schooling reaching its completion might be looming in her future.

It was hard, last August, to prepare herself; to make herself ready with books and quills and parchment; hard not to pack foodstuffs and darkness powder into her trunk; hard not to be afraid.

September was hard, too. It was difficult to board a train without Frank Granger waving farewell, without the lingering scent of her mother's Orchidée Bleue.

Harry and Ron had decided that Hogwarts has given them all that they need, and so Hermione had found a compartment alone on the express, riding solo for the first time. Neville had asked her to join him, but she had said she'd promised to sit with Ginny Weasley. However, when Ginny invited, Hermione declined, claiming she had Prefect duties. When Luna looked her way, eerie and knowing eyes locked onto her face, Hermione had fled to the ladies room and wept.

October was better, but only just. Hermione was able to bury herself in schoolwork.

November, December; a blur of weeks in which Hermione had tried very hard not to think about what the end of the year would bring. She spent Christmas at the Burrow, drinking Firewhisky with George Weasley while Ron made eyes at Lavender Brown. Lavender was damaged, injured and sad, and Ron needed very much to be needed. Hermione had needed him too, but she was too strong, too forward thinking. Her decision to return to Hogwarts had been the final component of their undoing over the summer.

And so, while Ron sneaked sweet kisses under mistletoe, Hermione stole away to George's bedroom while the family was asleep, losing herself in a drunken haze, night after night. She found that George needed her much in the same way that she needed him: distracting and rough, no promises of a codependent future required.

January was back to business as usual, letting herself fall into Potions and Charms and research, trying very hard to be a student and a witch rather than a daughter and a lover. It mostly worked, February and March going by nearly unnoticed.

She heard George was seeing Angelina Johnson in April. Her happiness for him was sincere. Her petty glee at Ron's jealousy, having caught wind of George and Hermione's brief affair, was as well.

The other students in her year, halved by various circumstances, lived the year with their own coping and grief. Slytherin house was oh so quiet, most of the students seeming either surly and dejected, or guilty and afraid. Theodore Nott, oddly, had become friendlier than anyone thought possible, striking up a rather close relationship with Ginny Weasley. Purely platonic, they both swore, but close nonetheless. Pansy Parkinson was quiet as a mouse, eyes often red from recently shed tears. The students had been cruel to her beyond measure. Oddly, her insistence that they hand over Harry at the final battle, while deplorable at the time, was a sentiment Hermione at least understood. Pansy had been terrified for her family and herself, and what teenage girl wouldn't make sacrifices to save her family?

What girl, indeed. Hermione could tell you about sacrifice. About choices.

Blaise Zabini also befriended Ginny, but the redhead assured Hermione it was much less platonic and _much_ more fun.

The other houses were less dour than Slytherin, though not less affected. Gryffindor was down their two star players, Harry and Ron's absence felt throughout the tower. Seamus Finnegan had returned to Ireland, leaving a rather lonely Dean Thomas to muddle through. Every morning, an owl arrived, and Dean's face would momentarily light. Hermione wondered if anyone else noticed.

Ravenclaw, as a group, was stoic. They'd suffered few mortalities amongst them but seemed to feel the ramifications of the past and the future. They strategized their careers and social movements based on the new world order, calculating based on the new demographics of the wizarding world.

Hufflepuff: here were the mourners and the therapists, feeling the losses deep in their hearts, and doing their utmost to ease the pain of their fellows. Hermione avoided them above all. She didn't want a therapist or a shoulder on which to cry. Hermione searched for her own inner strength, hardening and preparing herself for a world alone. Orphaned by her own hand and separated from her dearest friends, their lives already taking different paths, she wanted to create a world where she wasn't afraid or broken, and she didn't care for witnesses while she accomplished it.

George Weasley was the closest thing she had found to deliverance. Without that option, she prefers to be on her own.

The day that broke her was May 19th. That was the day, skimming the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Hermione found a small metallic charm, jumpring pulled open and a single word engraved on the scratched and dirty face. She had choked and choked on sobs for her familiar.

Crookshanks had been gone from her life for months at this point, nearly years, but she had hoped, foolishly, that he might be found; dreamed of him sauntering around the lake or vaulting up onto her bed. As time had passed, she had understood, in a logical and mental way, that it was unlikely the old beast had survived the battle, the creatures of the forest, his own age... but a childish and desperate hope was what soothed her to sleep those nights when she met him in dreams.

Harry had lost Hedwig; Hermione lost Crooks. Likely, there were homeless familiars abandoned by dead masters as well.

She'd cried forever, feeling as though an age had passed. Once her tears were spent, her head pounding with the force of her weeping, she had pocketed the tag and made her way to the castle. She passed Draco Malfoy on her way, the very quietest of the returning Snakes, and resolutely looked away from him, watching her own feet as she moved. She thought maybe he had looked away as well, imagining with ugly and petty pleasure that it was shame that turned his face. He rarely took meals in the Great Hall, was absent more than not from classes, and had been floo'd to the school directly rather than taking the Express. No one seemed to want him there anymore than he wanted to be in attendance. It was the first time she'd really seen him in months and, she hoped, it might be the last in her entire life.

Hermione completed her NEWTs with top marks, to no one's surprise, and looked toward the final days at what was once her beloved second home. On the 12th of June, she received a letter from Harry. He was lonely at Grimmauld, Ron having moved in to his own place (presumably to pursue his on-again off-again with Brown in private) and having not replaced Ginny as his girlfriend since their January split. Would she, the letter inquired, like to be roommates, of sorts?

She wasn't sure if it was pity or his own need that made him ask, but she found herself grateful. She'd been more than hesitant to face her childhood home now that her parents would never again be a part of her life. She imagined living there, stuffed in her old bedroom, her parent's master suite empty and only the memories of her childhood, her first love, and her dead cat to keep her company.

Yes, she'd written back, she would very much like to bunk with Harry for a time. She thanked him and agreed to see him at Grimmauld in a few days.

And now, the end and a new beginning are finally upon her. Today is Hermione Granger's last day at Hogwarts. Unless by some twist of fate she were to find herself employed by the ancient institution, she might possibly never see the castle again. She's bid farewell to many of the staff, sat pensively in the quiet of Gryffindor tower for a time, and even stood in the Quidditch stands, imagining Harry circling above her, carefree and smiling like he seemed to only be on a broom.

Tomorrow morning she will board the Express. Some of the students have already departed. Students of age, many never to return, Apparated away or were granted Floo privileges. Hermione chose to remain, one of the few of the decimated Eighth years, so she might take one last ride on the Express. It might be sentimentality, though she suspects she had simply not been in a hurry to return to a lonely London.

A warm day is at its end, and Hermione is enjoying a final sunset by the Black Lake. The water ripples, and she would like to think the Giant Squid is bidding them all a farewell. Perhaps the Mermish residents are honoring the departed. Remembering the dead.

Melancholy has made a home in Hermione's heart, and she takes a calming breath when thoughts of her lost kneazle choke her, deep in her throat. A feeling of overwhelming sorrow starts to sweep through her, panic and sadness making her rock herself like a child, eyes stinging. A sob tears from her, violent and desperate, before she can quell the sounds and muffle her sadness. It is a practiced reaction, and one at which she is becoming quite adept.

Hermione breathes deep, calming and steady, exhales stretched to a count of ten.

When she finally comes back to herself, muttering a mantra that everything will be fine, it's fine, everything is fine, she feels a cold press to the skin of her hand. She looks down into the onyx black eyes of a cafe colored mustelid, thick tail stretched behind it on the grass.

She jumps slightly, but the animal only looks at her, intent but not aggressive.

A final shaky breath clears her mind, and she greets, "Hello there. Aren't you a pretty thing?"

The cold little touch comes again, and she sees it is the feeling of a tiny little nose being jabbed into her hand. It seems more insistent this time, and Hermione looks over the animal. It is clean and glossy, beautiful orange markings breaking up the otherwise monochrome coat. It is also eyeing her again, then jabbing with its nose, an odd pattern with purpose. It wants her attention.

It's rather obvious this is no ordinary, wild pine marten. The weasel like animal, while native to the country, is far too comfortable in her presence. She offers her hand, gesturing and cooing for the animal to approach. It inches forward without hesitation, and she strokes a hand down it's sleek back. "Such a darling," she praises, and, experimentally, adds her second hand to pet down its side.

It seems as though the marten has no fear, edging closer still and watching her while she pets it. It doesn't claw or bite or make any sounds of agitation, only accepts her attention.

"Did you belong to someone?" she asks softly, blinking back moisture once again. "You're awfully sweet not to have someone love you." It stares back, seeming to perk up at her voice. Hermione closes her eyes, letting a tear well over and slide down her cheek. She thought she'd no tears left; apparently they are endless.

Against any better judgment, she scoops up the animal and holds it close, kneading its soft fur and laying her cheek against its warmth. "I'll find your home if I can," she promises, knowing it's likely a lost cause, but too comforted by the presence of a familiar to let go.

On unsteady legs, Hermione rises, holding the animal tightly against her and straightens her shoulders. She's yet to let anyone on the staff see her break, and today she does not intend to start. She sets a course back to the castle, hoping McGonagall is still in her office on this, their final day.

For once, someone is listening, and she finds the Headmistress in attendance. Hermione knocks softly and waits for the door to open. It swings gently inward, revealing a straight-backed McGonagall looking at her expectantly.

"Miss Granger, come in." She gestures to a chair across the desk then asks, "What can I do for you?" Hermione watches the woman's eyes fall on the furry bundle she is holding to her breast. "Have you a new familiar?"

"No, Headmistress. But I found him, out on the grounds. I don't think he's a wild marten, and I wondered if any students were missing theirs."

McGonagall presses her lips thin, an expression Hermione had once believed to be irritation, but has since learned covers an array of emotional affectation. "None that have been brought to my attention, though he does seem quite docile."

"And intelligent," Hermione adds. "He never hesitated to approach me. Almost like he was looking for a person."

"It's a rare familiar," McGonagall responds, "though not unheard of. The Creevey boy," her eyes close hard once, a pause of reflection, "he had a ferret his first year, though his parents kept it home after that. Mister Goldstein brought a badger this year."

Hermione nods, trying not to think too hard on the lifeless face of Colin Creevey.

She looks down, finding the dark eyes of the mustelid staring back at her. He's warm in her hold, and she's mortified to feel her eyes well up once again. When had she become so emotional? Next she'll be sniffling at happy family adverts on the telly.

Blinking back the tears, Hermione addresses her Head of House once more. "Do you think maybe I could keep him with me? Unless you find his witch or wizard?"

"If that is even possible," McGonagall returns gently. "But if it is, I'd hate for you to become attached. Perhaps Hagrid would be better suited?"

At that, the marten seems agitated for the first time, twisting in Hermione's hold and chittering briefly, before burrowing his head in the crook of Hermione's arm.

Both women look at each other a moment, then the Headmistress cracks a rare smile. "I think we are safe in our assumptions he is no wild weasel, Miss Granger. You may look after him, if you wish."

Hermione nods. "If you find his home, please send for me. Otherwise…" She looks down again, scratching the animal's head gently. "Otherwise, I might take him home with me. It would be nice… might be nice to have a familiar again. Though he's no Crooks," she finishes with a sad smile. McGonagall offers her an obligatory chuckle, and the marten seems to glare at her.

"Careful, he seems to have a jealous streak."

"He does," Hermione says, smile a bit more sincere. "Don't worry," she says to the mustelid, "I'm a one-familiar type of woman."

They say their goodbyes, brief small talk preceding Hermione's departure. It occurs to her, there's a possibility she might not again see her mentor. The wizarding world is small, and they may see each other someday, but it could be years before that were to occur. Will Hermione have children years from now and see them off to Hogwarts? Will she sit in this office, a fidgeting child with a riot of curls beside her, as McGonagall stares down her nose at them? It's equal parts comforting and devastating how life is sure to go on.

Hermione never felt mortality before the war. Now, she feels older than her years.

Walking the corridor to Gryffindor tower for one of the very last times, Hermione cuddles the animal in her arms close. It's comforting, the feel of fur on her cheek as she bends her head to its back. She used to carry Crooks like this, a comforting weight in her arms, feeling the vibration of his purr.

Maybe this is just what she needs. She can't deny it's been a lonely year. Hermione started in September as a nearly friendless orphan, burying herself more in books than even she thought possible.

Offering the password to the Fat Lady, Hermione sweeps through the common room, her presence mostly ignored as is typical. It's not that her house is cruel to her, but she has been so closed up all year, at some point they stopped trying for inane small talk. She's not so far gone that she doesn't recognize their attempts nor her own mild depression, but she hadn't the patience for their drivel months ago, and it's too late to change now.

Her room is quiet. She's had it mostly to herself in general, Pavarti only returning to sleep occasionally. As Hermione understands it, she and Padma have become inseparable, clinging to one another for comfort, and the twins spends many nights in the Ravenclaw dorms. Lavender had stayed in London, needing semi-constant care after her attack by Greyback. Romilda Vane had transferred to Beauxbatons, and Eloise Midgen spent a great deal of time sneaking into the Heads dorm to see the seventh year Hufflepuff wearing the badge. Tonight especially, she expected solitude, Eloise and Parvati being amongst the eighth years who left via Apparition already.

She's been grateful for it, and particularly now that she has a creature to care for.

Hermione crosses to her four-poster and gently sets the marten on top of her duvet. "There now. I'm not sure where you're used to sleeping, but this must be better than the forest, wouldn't you say?"

It blinks at her, then looks around the room, nose twitching curiously. "Merlin knows when last you ate," she ponders aloud. "Let's see if I can dig something up."

She reaches for her beaded bag. Her attempts to pack normally, to not plan for her own demise or extreme situations, had not been entirely successful. From the endless space, she pulls out a package of beef jerky. She isn't entirely sure the animal will eat processed meat, but it's all she has available until they open the Great Hall for dinner.

Tearing open the top, she pulls out a piece and offers it, pinched delicately between two fingers. With no delay, the marten snags the meat with its teeth and gnaws on the corner. It looks at her briefly, eyes locking onto hers, then goes back to its meal, scarfing the rest in one bite.

She takes the look as gratitude and smiles, then lays three more pieces between its paws. Before hardly any time has passed, the bag is empty, and the marten curls up comfortably on the bed. It studies her, but Hermione isn't sure what to do with it now. Crooks, in true feline form, had been fairly independent. Seeking food, comfort, and the occasional head scratches, he spent most of his time prowling or sleeping.

What on earth does she do with an expectant looking pine marten?

Giving him one last scratch between his ears, she conjures a small box filled with sand, hoping she's not wrong on his level of domestication, and decides to make her way to dinner after all.

"I'll bring you something nice from the Great Hall," she tells him softly. His furry head is perked up, cocked to one side as he watches her, and she smiles a soft but sincere smile, happier than she's been in some time.

Hermione closes the door behind her, giving a little shake to the handle to be certain it's secure, and flounces out of the common room, intent to find a treat for her little companion.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy is a coward.

He's been painfully aware of this fact for much longer than he might have admitted out loud. Creatures, Dark Wizards, his own father… There is very little on this earth that doesn't make him coil inward on instinct. And now, at the end of his formal education, the world looming ahead of him, he is afraid of his future as well.

The Malfoy coffers are fairly empty, his parents living off of what is left and trapped in their ancestral home. They are both condemned to live out their days within Malfoy Manor, one loan house elf at their disposal, and their own magic limited to mostly rudimentary function. The once proud family is at their lowest, and Draco knows his father has expectations of Draco to rescue them from their fate.

But Draco is fortunate to simply walk free, his fate only as rosy as it is due to his age during most of his crimes. His attempts on the life of Albus Dumbledore had occurred before he was of age. Since his seventeenth birthday, he had kept his head down and his ears open. The Dark Lord had asked little of him, their family having fallen from his grace. It is fortunate he failed so spectacularly at his initial task, or he might have been on the front lines. As it was, he was forbidden to participate in revels (as though it was a punishment) and given no responsibilities beyond basic errands.

He had been found innocent of his crimes, to grave disappointment to many, he is sure, and was sent packing to Hogwarts to finish his year.

Which has been _terrible_ , thanks.

Draco has never felt so lonely, so forgotten. His mother has been writing, of course, but the Ministry is watching all Malfoy missives, and so it has tended to be weeks between messages. Some would arrive in bundles of three or four at a time, obvious that a Ministry toady had been purposefully delaying the process, letting them build as unimportant trash. It angered Draco, in the beginning, but he finds he has no energy for anger any longer. This is his life now, and he isn't entirely sure how to live it.

So, in October, Draco had concocted a plan to do what he does best: Run. His first step was to find an easy way to disappear. He's a visible, notable wizard. Not to mention his mother, regardless that her funds are low, would find a way to locate him as soon as he stepped off the Express if he let her know his plans. He couldn't very well leave without telling her; he's not that much of a bastard. So, he found a way to make sure he would be gone from sight as soon as she knew to start looking.

His letter home only a few days ago had been brief but sincere.

_Mother and Father,_

_I must apologize as I know this will not be welcome news, but I will not be returning to the Manor. The Malfoy name is damaged beyond what little repair a single generation might make, and I find I do not have the constitution to fail yet another impossible task._

_I have finished Hogwarts with top marks, only behind Granger in rank. I hope this one last obligation is enough to make you proud, if only for a moment._

_My intention is to find a life I can live for myself, without the shadow of who I have been hanging over me. Please do not send anyone to search for me. I will be making myself rather hard to find._

_But also, Mother, please do not worry for me. I have a modest sum from my private vault, luckily untouched by the Ministry, that should sustain me. It has already been withdrawn from Gringotts and moved to a private holding._

_I wish you both well and will contact you when I am able._

_Regards,_

_Draco_

Once the message had been snatched by a waiting Hogwarts owl, Draco had made his way to his dorm to finalize his arrangements. What odds and ends he had left, mostly just quills and his spare robes, he had asked Theo Nott to carry home.

"You're not taking the Express?"

Draco had scoffed, putting on airs (one of his ingrained talents). "Of course not. I have some travelling to do. Heading out of England for a bit. Can you just make sure this is sent to the Manor for me?"

Theo had eyed him but agreed and asked his friend to contact him once he returned to Britain.

Like the snake he is, Draco had lied baldly to Theo's face before slipping out of the dorms with nothing but his wand in his pocket and the clothes on his back; a freedom, a luxury, the likes of which he had never known.

The transformation was the easy part. Malfoys are of an old and powerful bloodline. Though his opinions on the concept of blood purity have been challenged, he still has pride in his name and his house. He comes from powerful stock. Regardless of whether purity itself has any bearing, the reality is he has the knowledge, the proof, that he follows a line of adept witches and wizards.

The first time he had transformed, months before, Draco had been sure in the moment preceding that he would be a dragon, as if cosmic justice owed him that much. If not that, perhaps a strong and fast bird of prey...

A sleek feline?

Snake, as is his House pride?

...

...A ferret?!

The first transformation had been very brief, Draco rapidly changing back to stare at himself in the mirror, immediately returning to his typical form to be sure he _could_ and that this wasn't some sick joke. He'd been momentarily convinced someone was reveling in one of his greatest nightmares. He can still feel the bruises left from being bounced in his ferret form, years ago though it was.

After calming breaths, he had tried again, studying himself in the mirror through his new beady eyes.

Not a ferret, in actual fact. Somewhat more unique, his animagus form had been the Scottish native pine marten. A mustelid, but he had been grateful to avoid the Weasley weasel or Hufflepuff badger. At least, he had comforted himself, he isn't one of _those_. He is also a predator, a carnivore, which makes him feel stronger by design.

His fur had been, by and large, a rather uninspired brown, but he does sport a rather striking patch of orange on his chest and neck.

After a few days, trying out the transformation occasionally and using it as a way to vanish from the watchful eyes of professors, Draco had learned to be thankful for what he has ( _It could be worse_ , he'd thought. _I could be a jellyfish on dry land_ ), and started making final plans of his escape.

As the end of school loomed, what he'd needed next was a student to smuggle him home. No one would miss Draco on the last day. Only Theo and Pansy would even speak to him, and Pansy has her own problems.

He had turned on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and prayed to Merlin for a Hufflepuff. Or perhaps a very young Ravenclaw. Someone with a bleeding heart and enough sense to take care of him. He'd sat there, sleek and beautiful, waiting…

Only to find himself bored out of his mind when hours passed. He supposes he should have taken into account the fact that many of the students would be leaving early, and many of those remaining would spend their last day involved in teary goodbyes with friends.

All of his efforts, weeks of preparing his form and planning his departure, were crumbling, and he had just started to think he might have to venture into the castle. Filch was in the castle. Mrs. Norris with her red eyes...

Then, the clouds had parted, and he had seen her; a lone figure by the lake. Granger was, perhaps, not the best choice. He knows she would hex him if she knew his identity, but she was a bleeding heart if there ever was one. And if any witch knew how to properly take care of an animal, it would be her.

His approach had been cautious. Not for fear, but more to keep appearances he was a humble, little mustelid, not a wizard in weasel clothing. As he grew closer, what had started as muffled sobs, sounds he wasn't entirely certain at first how to categorize, had evolved into pained, strangled weeping.

Initially, he had been surprised. Granger, it seems, has been hiding her trauma rather well. Though, he'd thought, if he really considers it, he is very familiar with the signs, and perhaps she had shown some cracks in her facade over the past months. He had watched her a moment, a part of him wishing another wizard or witch might come along, but eventually resigned himself. Studying her face, an urge to distract her had prodded him forward, and he had touched his tiny, cold nose to the skin on her hand.

She had praised him and smiled softly, immediately stemming the flow of her tears, and so, he had nudged her again.

In his experiences with Hermione Granger, he had known her to be many things. Bossy? In spades. Over-confident? She wears it like a cloak. Judgmental? Accusatory? Attention-seeking? No one could deny. Even her best friends had been known to share a laugh about it. Draco and Granger had never been anything close to civil, so of course he would never have said a word about it, but he personally thought she needed better friends.

Because the reality is that she is all of those things that Weaselbee says, but in that moment he'd had proof positive that she is also soft and kind and full of affection; a fact that surely her closest mates must have realized. Her scent, sweet citrus lingering beneath the smell of parchment on her fingertips, is hardly unpleasant.

"Did you belong to someone?" she had asked him softly, silent tears welling in her eyes and sliding down her pale cheeks. "You're awfully sweet not to have someone love you."

And so, when she scooped him up, promising to find him a home, he had hooked his tiny little paws on her shoulder and watched the Hogwarts grounds disappear into the distance, for, he had imagined, the last time.

Which brings Draco to his current circumstances.

He watches the door slowly close, Granger's large brown eyes on his until the opening vanishes with a soft click. He waits a moment, eyes trained on the handle.

When nothing changes for a count of two hundred, Draco wills his transformation to end. Starting on all fours on what is suddenly a rather small bed, he climbs down and stretches his long limbs, feeling his back crack in a very satisfying way. Being a marten is not uncomfortable in general, but there is a lingering sense of wrongness until he returns to his Gods-given flesh.

He takes stock of the room next, pilfering and fingering through what little remains in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory. Granger, it seems, has mostly packed already. On her nightstand, he finds an oddly masculine watch (a boyfriend? Weasley?), a book simply titled "Night" with a much-loved spine and frayed corners, and a half-empty glass of water.

A pair of slippers rests by the side of the bed. Ridiculous things with the heads of rather unnatural looking rabbits stitched above the toes, Draco isn't sure if he's amused or appalled by such odd accessories in the possession of a rather serious witch.

He wanders to the small bathroom, running a finger along the footboard of the beds on the way. The mirror above the modest sinks shows that he looks tired, but a faint smile rests on his lips.

_Free._

He's still hardly able to believe it. Perhaps the sentiment is premature. He might still be caught, but so far luck is on his side.

A glance into the shower reveals a bottle of shampoo that touts an herbal and citrus blend. Draco mentally congratulates himself for his olfactory acumen. He's really getting a hang of his animal senses…

All in all, Granger's room is almost disappointing in how ordinary it is. A part of him was searching vaguely for some alien Muggle gadgets to occupy his time. What they might be or what he might do with them, he can't imagine, but had hoped nonetheless.

In the end, he thumbs through her book and then decides a short kip might be in order. Of course he will have to transform, but that's not so terrible. Draco returns to his small form and curls into a ball, his tail wrapping around himself, and wills himself to dream about open air and endless choices, beholden to no one but himself.

* * *

Draco's next conscious thought is that the world is shaking rather violently, and he starts, scrambling for purchase.

"Sorry, darling," a voice coos at him. "But you're going to have to share."

He blinks, head darting around and settling on the figure leaned over the bed. Granger is tugging at the blanket he's been sleeping upon, making his tiny paws lose balance one at a time as the fabric shimmies out from beneath him.

If he could glare, he would. Draco thinks, as he tries not to fall on his furry face, that he wasn't trying to take the whole bed, and if she would _stop shaking him_ he would be happy to vacate to one of the empty mattresses across the room!

Finally, the world stops trying to rattle him, and Granger changes tactics. She gives him a very enticing little scratch beneath his jaw that makes his eyes close involuntarily and his back leg want to twitch. It's nice, but over too soon. "Come on, then," she says, and then he feels her hands scoop beneath him and lift him from the bed only to be deposited a small distance away.

He looks back at her, hoping to convey a proper scolding with his eyes, to find himself a little dumbstruck.

Granger is standing there in a rather plebeian looking shirt that he knows by touch is made of a very cheap fabric. It's dark and has short sleeves and a strange emblem painted on the front. All of that is an oddity, but likely just some Muggle nonsense and hardly worth notice.

What _is_ worth notice is the fact that the shirt hitting toward the top of her thighs is the only stitch of clothing hiding the witch's modesty.

Fucking hell, he hadn't really thought about _this_.

He resolutely looks away, trying not to think too hard about the expanse of skin revealed to him and looking around the room for an alternative place to sleep. The other beds have been stripped of blankets and the like, but Draco is sure they will be comfortable enough…

"Are you pouting now?" Granger giggles a little as she reaches down to pet him. Her legs have slid beneath the bed clothes, and he can feel her feet wiggling against his side. "Your spot is warm. I almost feel bad making you move." She laughs lightly again, and then his body is lifted and laid gently down right next to the pillows at the head of the bed.

Draco freezes, unsure how to react. He's laying almost nose to nose with Hermione Granger, her small hand running a soothing line from his head down his back, repeating in fluid and gentle swipes. "Sorry I was gone so long. I had to say goodbye to a few people."

He notices, now that he's not trying to find an escape, that her eyes are a little glassy. He wonders who she had needed to find for her farewells. Her dundering duo have not been in attendance, and he's not known her to have other friends. A younger, crueler Draco Malfoy might have sneered and asked if she wanted to have one last bit of alone time with the library, but those days ended when a boy learned the atrocities of war and became a more tempered man.

He's not sure what makes him do it, but Draco scoots himself just a little closer, settling in and soaking up the warmth emanating from Granger's body. Her arm slides around his smaller frame and pulls him even closer, cuddling him against her chest, his head settled near her neck.

He thinks she must be almost asleep, her breathing settled into a lulling rhythm, but then her lips part and her breath ruffles his coat.

"Tomorrow," she says, "we're going to go home. You and me. Whoever you lost…" He waits, holding very still while she collects herself. Her voice is even quieter when she speaks again, words meant for herself in the lonely dark. "Whoever lost you probably loved you very much, just like I loved Crooks. But, I think it's alright if you can love me just a little, I'm sure they won't mind. Wherever my Crooks is now, I hope someone will love him for me."

Grangers face nuzzles into his back, and he smells the salt of her tears before he feels them wet his fur. She's quiet when she sobs, and Draco allows himself to be held, letting her be sad and trying to be something good for someone.

In his whole life, Draco has very seldom been what anyone needs. Hermione Granger is his ticket to freedom. He thinks he can at least be this for her now.

He drifts off again, his breathing almost in sync with the witch holding him close. Sometime in the night, she rolls away, favoring a position on her back, but Draco edges against her shoulder, keeping contact until the sun breaks over the horizon to welcome his first day of true freedom.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco is warm when he wakes, tucked into a soft and luxurious bed. A feminine scent surrounds him, and he feels his tiny nose twitch.

His eyes pop open and the day floods back. He's never slept a whole night as an animal before. What a strange sensation to wake thinking he's a wizard only to feel a twitching nose.

Sunlight is streaming through the lone window, illuminating the tower he slept in and the empty beds all around.

And where is his new companion? A quick sweep finds no one else to be in the room, and he has a moment of mild panic that she left without him. Ridiculous, he tells himself. Hermione Granger would never leave an animal locked in a tower to starve all summer. He reasons she is likely at breakfast, and his concern changes to hope that she will bring something back for him.

He nestles back down into the blankets just in time for the door to fly open and Granger to rush into the room, arms laden with what looks to be knitwear. Under her breath, he catches her mutter, "ungrateful" and "elves" and assumes the items were part of her ill-planned, but stubbornly continuous, S.P.E.W. campaign. She dumps the pile on the bed and looks over at Draco. Her expression, which had been rather cross a moment before, softens to nothing but affection. "You're awake, I see."

Draco feels his body lifted from the warm bed and shivers in the early morning chill of the drafty tower. The cold doesn't last, however, as he is promptly cuddled against Granger in that way she is so fond.

He can't complain. She is terribly soft and warm. _Terribly_ soft and _delightfull_ y warm... Draco cuddles right back.

"Are you ready to go home, darling? I can't wait for Harry to meet you."

Harry? Harry _Potter_? Fucking fuck. Maybe he can make his escape on the Express…

Setting him back down, Granger tells him, "I went to the kitchens to get you some breakfast." From her robes, she pulls out a cloth napkin and lays it on the bed to carefully unfold it. Within, Draco spies a collection of berries and two links of the mediocre Hogwarts breakfast sausage he has come over the years to despise. Still, at least she didn't bring him dead mice or something equally grotesque. He promptly snags a berry to show his approval.

"I'm not sure what you're used to, but hopefully this lives up," she says warmly, watching him take another bite, this time a nibble of lukewarm sausage. It's about as terrible as he remembers, but he's famished and Merlin knows what she will decide to feed him when her choices are more varied.

"If you were someone's familiar," she says, adding commentary as he chews, "then likely you've ridden the Express."

Granger kneels down by the bed, watching him eat and leaning her arms on the mattress. "You might be nervous," she says in what he imagines she thinks is a soothing tone. Not that it's grating, honestly. He supposes he is a bit put to ease...

"But I don't want you to worry. Whatever terrible means of transportation, cramped, hard carriers or stuffed inside a rucksack, you don't need to worry about with me." She grins, looking proud. Draco has stopped munching to watch her, finding the brightness in her warm eyes very inviting.

"When you travel with Hermione Granger," she assures him, "you travel in style."

* * *

Hermione boards the train with her baggage shrunk into her pockets and her new friend safely stowed in a carrier. It's a little smaller than the one she had for Crookshanks, appropriate to the size of her familiar. And she must say, she's pretty happy with the charms work on it.

Created using the transfigured cable knit of rejected House Elf hats, she added charms to strengthen and mold the fibers into a permanent shape. The bottom is comprised of a throw pillow nestled onto the yarn webbing. It is colorful and mismatched, a collection of various techniques and threads. Cheery, she would say. All in all, she thinks it's quite adorable and resolutely ignores the questioning looks of other students as she makes her way through the train.

At the first empty car she finds, Hermione enters and sets the carrier gently on a seat by the window. Her trunk is placed on the luggage rack, and she shucks her robes to drape them over the top. With a sigh, she settles into the next empty seat and waits for her Hogwarts era to officially end.

It's almost no time before the whistle sounds, warning all aboard for imminent departure. A couple of times during the boarding process, the door had opened to her compartment. After her stoic look, however, eyebrow raised, the intruders (all early years) had taken the hint and moved on. She might have been a little lonely this year, but she can't deny the luxury of a quiet train ride.

A book is drawn from her beaded bag, and Hermione sits back as the Express gains speed down the tracks.

"Oh, I almost forgot. _Accio raspberries_." A small jar zips out of her bag into her waiting palm, and she shows it to the carrier, jiggling it enticingly. "I brought us a snack. Better for your teeth than that rubbish off the trolley."

She doesn't receive a response, of course, but she is under the distinct impression her new friend is unhappy.

"I hope you don't feel crowded, love, but it really is the perfect size for you." Hermione has done enough reading on animal care that she is more than comfortable with the carrier she created. Too much space can be as detrimental as too little, after all.

Hermione leans down to better peer between the webbing and finds her marten with his back toward her, curled up at one end. Is he afraid, perhaps? Maybe he isn't as familiar as she thought with the Express. She makes a decision to let him travel free, praying to Merlin he doesn't feel the need to… _eliminate_ anywhere in the car.

"Alright then. Would you like to ride with me?" she muses to him aloud as she casts a quick Locking Charm on the door, lest she end up repeating Neville's infamous toad hunt of '91.

Opening the trap door she created on the carrier, Hermione peels back the layer of bright colored webbing and peers inside. Her cheeky little marten is curled up as far to the back as possible and showing her his posterior. He doesn't so much as look back when she reaches inside and gives his back a soft scratch. "Come on now… don't pout. Do you want to come out, darling?"

Another soft scratch and he finally peers back over his furry shoulder, his back arching on instinct as she strokes down his length. "I am sorry, you know, but I wanted to be sure you came aboard safely. What if someone jostled you? Or you jumped out of my arms and got hurt when you landed?

_Or ran away_ , she thinks, but not really liking how desperate it sounds out loud, even if it's only an animal in her company.

"Any number of things, and I just couldn't imagine not taking you home." She continues to pet him, his body losing its tension and meeting each stroke with an upward arc. "I'm already quite attached, you see," she says in a stage whisper, like she's telling secrets amongst friends.

Finally, he turns and steps forward, closing the small distance to the door of the carrier. Hermione retracts her hand and backs away, leaving him free to step outside at his own pace. A paw hits the seat on which she set the carrier, then another. Soon he is completely emerged.

Hermione had expected him to look around, nose twitching, taking in the car, but instead he keeps his little dark eyes trained on her. "So you _have_ been here before? I suppose this is old hat, as they say. Nothing new to see."

She settles in next to him on the seat, working her hips to scoot back to the wall, cozy and comfortable for the long journey. "So, about that snack then?"

The jar is still laying nearby and she retrieves it with what is, in her humble opinion, a rather nice piece of wandless magic. This time, when she shows the jar, the marten perks up and steps closer, placing one little paw on her thigh, and looking like he is quite a bit hungrier than his pouting let on. What a darling little beast, he is.

The rest of the travel is uneventful, but rather enjoyable. He naps while she reads, or looks out the window while Hermione prattles on about some topic or another. Honestly, it's a bit like talking to Ron when she finds a passionate interest and he can't really keep up so he just stays quiet. The difference being this friend doesn't roll his eyes or interrupt to change the subject.

Looking down at his little furry body, curled up and content in another little nap, Hermione thinks this was just exactly what she needs.

She never puts him back into the carrier, either, allowing him to snuggle into her shoulder as they exit the Express. There are a few rushed goodbyes, questions about her familiar, but she doesn't allow anyone to distract her. Hermione is ready to move forward, and leaving Hogwarts behind is the first step. It hasn't felt like home, after all, since before the end of sixth year. As much as she loves learning, treasures the opportunity to study in such a hallowed institution, now is the time for Hermione Granger to begin her life.

No one is waiting for her at the station this time, as she had known would be the case. Harry offered, but since he doesn't drive, it seemed silly to accept. No, she told him, she would take a car to Grimmauld like the independent adult she is. The Muggle driver, of course, requires a bit of confunding in regards to her familiar. Once that is done, she indulges in a little idle chat about her "rather docile cat" until the car arrives at a street she knows well, her closest friend sure to be waiting to greet her.

With a deep breath, both cleansing and fortifying, she lets herself inside her new home.

"What's that thing?" Harry enters from the doorway to her right, grinning his natural grin, and asks after her marten by way of greeting.

Hermione sets her beaded bag onto the arm of an old sofa and cuddles her new familiar to her chest. "It's a pine marten."

"What the hell is a pine marten?"

"A mustelid," she returns, but Harry only raises an eyebrow at her, giving a very distinct impression that this was not an acceptable answer.

With a roll of her eyes, she recites, "Mustelids are a family of carnivorous mammals that include, among others, weasels, otters, badgers, and _martens_." She lifts the furry bundle in her arms a bit higher, giving him a better look.

"So you've brought home a _weasel_ then?" he asks, looking bemused.

Feeling uncharacteristically snarky, she smirks and says, "Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

She's met with a bark of laughter, joyous and exactly what she needs. Coming to Harry feels like coming home. Her entire demeanor relaxes as she chuckles in response.

Harry gestures towards her and instructs, "Put down the weasel, then, so I can greet you properly."

Scowling a little, she admonishes, "It's not actually a weasel," but complies nonetheless, setting the animal next to her beaded bag with a reassuring swipe of affection from head to tail.

Hermione rushes to Harry then, wrapping her arms around his middle. He smells like leather and wood and radiates warmth. Home. The only home she can expect now. Harry Potter is her friend, her family, her partner, and she's so grateful he asked her to continue as a main player in his life.

Into her curls, he says, "Welcome home," and she sobs once before willing it to transform into a watery laugh.

She pulls back and gives the dark and dated room around them a significant look. "And what a home it is."

"It obviously needs a woman's touch-"

"Sexist."

"-and I've been so busy with training-"

"Excuses."

"-so maybe now you're here, you might help me?" He offers a sheepish look that she greets with a smile.

"I'm not precisely known to be terribly domestic, Harry."

"Neither was Walburga Black." He chuckles, and Hermione certainly can't argue with that. "Anyway, this room is one of the worst, honestly. I've a room ready for you, and Luna assures me the nargles are out of the draperies. Come on."

He gestures for Hermione to follow and starts toward a set of stairs with a Walnut handrail in need of a good coat of stain. Frank Granger would have had a field day with this house. That in itself is a sobering thought, imagining her father leaned over the wood, a rag in hand.

She can see him, an apparition. " _A rag is far more effective, Little My. Amateurs use a brush, but us_ real _artisans, we know."_

She turns quickly away from the stairs, willing the ghost of her guilt to vanish into the ether. Grabbing her bag, she gently scoops up her new pet, noting he had merely sat quietly during her reunion with her friend. So she praises him, running the point of her nose against his fur. "Such a good boy, you are."

Hermione steps quickly to catch up with Harry to find him eyeing her. "So where did you pick him up?" he asks.

"Near the Forest." Hermione holds her bundle closer. "I spoke to McGonagall when I found him," she explains further as they trudge up the creaky steps. "She agreed he seems very intelligent. We think maybe he was a familiar before…"

And that's all that needs to be said. Harry hums in understanding but asks nothing further. An intelligent animal wondering around, the battle only months into history, and many a dead witch and wizard to account its presence? Explanation is far from necessary.

They reach the third floor landing, and Hermione follows her friend down a dim corridor to the second room on the right. "Here it is. It's the biggest one up here. I'm told it belonged to Regulus Black. Seems only right someone could bring some light to this room. Like... he _deserves_ that much."

It's a rather poignant thought, and Hermione considers perhaps she has not given Harry enough credit. Perhaps he did not come out as unaffected by war as she once thought.

The door swings inward, and Harry steps back to allow her entry before following her into the room.

It's small, indicative of the basic townhouse design, but room enough for Hermione and her new familiar. A bed, probably not even a Queen, rests along the far wall, a window centered above that gives a rather generous view of grey London skies. To the left of the door is a small desk and chair, parchment and quills stocked for use, and a single yellow lily in a glass vase. She finds the detail odd and raises her eyebrow, nodding her chin to indicate what has drawn her attention.

"From Narcissa Malfoy," Harry explains. "I'm not sure why, honestly. The card just said 'thank you', and, really, I'm the one who owed her a thanks." He shrugs.

"Maybe she was thanking you for getting some unwelcome guests out of her house," she mutters back, inexplicably irritated by the reminder of Narcissa Malfoy, leading to thoughts of Lucius Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy, and the whole of the Death Eaters and the war and just _everything_ …

"I can take it downstairs," her friend is saying cautiously. "I just thought maybe your room needed some color…"

She looks at him to find his face concerned and cuddles her marten. "No, it's pretty," she allows, and not having much more to add.

Harry nods and starts to back out of the room. "Maybe you'd like to settle in? Unpack?" He nods to her bag, aware of the secrets it keeps.

"Sure," she agrees, happy to have a moment alone to collect herself. "I'll see you downstairs."

After considering her a moment, he offers a soft smile and tells her, "I'm glad you're here, you know. It will be good to have someone… I'm glad you're here."

Unable to keep her eyes from welling, she whispers back, "Me too." She closes her eyes as soon as he shuts the door, letting the tears slide down her cheeks.

* * *

Draco watches through his tiny eyes as Potter walks out, leaving the constantly bereft Granger in his wake. Doesn't the prat see she's not alright? Merlin, the witch has worthless friends. Of course, that's not exactly a new thought for Draco to have. She's always been the most valuable of the trio, regardless of her unfortunate birth.

He looks away, granting her some privacy as she stands in the middle of the room, fists clenched, breathing steadily and searching for control. Instead, his eyes wander the room and fall on the flower standing tall from a Murano glass vase he recognizes. His mother always hated the piece; a gift from _Signora_ Zabini. Only dust-repellent charms had kept the thing from looking as unloved as it was. If martens could snicker, he might have been tempted to do so as he imagines his mother being rid of the garish blue and green bit of tchotchke.

His mother though... thoughts of her make his tiny mammal heart pound a little harder, his paws scratch at Granger's arms in a need to move. He misses his mother, but the thought of her is also stifling. And his father...

He closes his eyes and lets his furry head press against Granger's shoulder. He's free. As far as his family knows, he is off on some adventure, and they are helpless to stop him. Once he is able to make his way from the old Black townhouse, he will be able to forge a new path for himself, preferably away from Britain. Somewhere no one knows his name or his crimes or his very obvious platinum hair.

France? He's been thinking about this a lot and has all but decided that is not far enough. He's not sure anywhere on the continent is far enough, truthfully. His parents may not be able to follow him, but they do have contacts. The former shareholders of Malfoy Industries are likely split between looking for Malfoy blood to spill or owing favors to the family that made them millions... depending on if they were smart enough to get out while they could.

Perhaps across the pond, as the muggles say. The States? There is, he's been told, a large magical network of communities spanning the continental 48. He would have a choice of cities or smaller villages, warm climates or seasonal, and, most importantly, the Malfoy reach was never quite that far. "Such a young and impetuous country," Lucius would sneer, "I see no reason to expand our company into that paltry market."

Or, Draco had mused, laying on his stomach in Hermione's dormitory bed, somewhere tropical. Perhaps he could find his own little piece of paradise and while away his days staring out on to open sea. His fortune is far from vast, but all he needs is a small hideaway. Even a bit of undeveloped land he can ward from Muggles.

The possibilities before him are so bloody endless, it's dizzying...

A hitch in Granger's breathing takes him out of his reverie.

"I'm really glad I found you," she is saying, nuzzling her cheek against him. Her breath is warm as it rustles his coat, and he can feel her heart beating a cadence against his smaller frame. Such an odd sensation, being held close to a witch while not in his true form.

He also finds that he is more in tune with her biology. He can feel the pace of her heart and her lungs. He can scent her in a way that is more than the mint and citrus he can smell in her curls. It's another type of sense, altogether unique to his changed form. Fear has a scent. Guilt, something else. It roils from her in waves, and Draco wonders how she made it through her eighth year. He had noticed her the past few months, but only in passing. She had been quiet, but seems more determined than despondent, like she was still trying to tackle the world.

He envies her the mask she wears. Malfoys are raised to keep their base human emotion bottled. She has been succeeding with natural grace.

Perhaps he should not judge Potter so harshly for walking away from her.

Then again, the prick should know her better than anyone and, not to mention, Draco _lives_ for judging fucking Potter.

"Well then," she says decisively, "let's settle in, shall we?"

Does she always talk to her pets this much? Over the next few moments, Granger unpacks more than should possiblemy fit inside her bag, all the while commentating the process.

"Oh, and here's this orange monstrosity. Why I ever let Ginny talk me into this is just beyond me. Really, where on earth would I even wear this? It has frills for Merlin's sake. And cap sleeves. When in the history of ever has someone found cap sleeves to be comfortable? Can't even lift my arms properly in the thing…"

She goes on, hanging items in her wardrobe and stuffing unmentionables into drawers. An array of colors and fabrics, no short supply of satin and lace, Draco notices; how risqué, Miss Granger.

She pulls out a framed photograph once her clothing seems to all be put to order. Draco is appalled to see that it doesn't move. Is it a portrait of dead people? He realizes it's a Muggle photograph, but finds it no less eerie.

Placing it on the side table, she looks down and catches Draco studying the image. "That's my mum," she says softly, pointing one unpolished fingertip toward the image. "And that's my father. Jean and Frank… I wish you could have met them," Granger laments, stroking over the glass that covers the photo, a caress that portrays all the longing that his little animal instincts hear in her voice. "They would have loved you, I think. Especially Dad. He was always interested in wildlife."

She picks up the photo frame and flops onto the bed with it. "When I was little, we always had so many bird feeders in the trees. I could sit and watch for hours while he taught me all the types that came to eat."

Glancing out the window, her look is very far away, voice distant. "I could put some out here, I suppose. Right there in that tree." Draco looks where her gaze has landed at the branches of a tall tree that reach the window of this upper floor. Perhaps he should be taking note of the possibility of escape by scaling down the conveniently spaced branches, but then her hand is laid on his back, gently running her finger tips down his fur.

"Are you hungry, darling?"

He looks back at her brown eyes, filled with sorrow, a desperately forced smile on her face. What in Merlin's name happened to her family?

Nudging her hand, Draco indicates that, yes, he could eat. She scoops him up and cuddles him close as they make their way down the stairs. He's starting to think he miscalculated. His plan seems it might have an unintended side effect; a victim to his victimless crime.

* * *

"So what do you call him?"

Hermione is settled at the small breakfast nook off the kitchen, a bowl of sandwich turkey laid on the ground near her feet and her familiar digging his adorable little snout into his meal.

"I'm not sure," she admits, cocking her head at Harry. "I've been thinking on it, but nothing definitive."

"You should call him Draco," he offers, chuckling. "The great bouncing ferret."

She laughs in spite of herself. Perhaps it's not charitable, but that spoiled, little Slytherin had been such a tosser that day, it's hard not to see the humor. Hermione stifles her rather loud laugh that disrupts the room after she would swear the marten stops eating long enough to glare at her.

"Then I could tell Ron I have Malfoy in my bed," she says with a smirk, and Harry laughs harder.

It's good to laugh again; good to be around Harry who shared so much of her trauma. No one can completely understand another's journey. Harry can't know what it's like to send your own parents away any more than Hermione can know what it's like to be orphaned by your martyred family. But they ran together. They went hungry together. They were abandoned by Ron together…

Harry has been her dearest friend for as long as she can remember, and now he has become something even more. Family. She hopes he feels the same.

Once their laughter dries up, Hermione answers more seriously. "I was thinking I might call him Benedick."

"Odd choice," Harry says. "Wasn't that some… famous betrayer or something."

"Benedict Arnold, and, no, _Benedick_ is the male lead in William Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_. He's a bit of a rascal." She looks over at Draco fondly. "Something tells me this one can be a sneaky thing."

The animal locks eyes with her.

"Too long," Harry counters. "Can I just call him Ben… Bennie?"

Hermione wrinkles her nose, so Harry smirks and tries, "How about Dickie?"

"Harry Potter, you can call him Benedick like a civilized person. You handle my name just fine," she tacks on with a sniff. Hermione's parents instilled her with a respect for classic names, and she refuses to have a pet called something asinine like "Fluffy" or "Boots".

Conceding, Harry allows, "Fine, fine. _Benedick_ ," he says with sarcastic emphasis. "So what are your plans for the evening?"

"To spend it with you," she answers honestly, hoping that's not too presumptuous. "Unless you're busy, of course," she adds quickly.

"Just been waiting for you to get home," he says.

_Home._

She feels her eyes well. "I suppose I am," she agrees with a bit of a shudder to her breath, then laughs through the moment. "How does take away and something wretched on the telly sound?"

Hermione is ever so grateful Harry has managed to Mugglefy his home a bit. She can't think of a better evening. "Absolutely perfect."

With Benedick curled in her lap and Harry on the sofa at her side, it's the best life has been in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuous thanks to In Dreams, LightofEvolution, Mcal, and all of you who are reading along with me!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to my team LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal, and all of you as always!

"Good morning, Harry!"

Granger is bounding down the stairs of Potter's house, jostling Draco all the way, each step jarring his little frame. He would complain if he wasn't also pressed up against the very cozy expanse of her chest. It's probably improper to notice; he's been trying very hard to be a gentleman (as much as an animal can be), but if she insists on holding him so close, it's hard not to know that she's a little more endowed than he'd realized in the past. And warm. And soft... Has he mentioned how soft?

Fuck, he feels like a complete reprobate.

Saint Potter turns from where he is slipping on some sort of Muggle outerwear and smiles at Granger in that obnoxiously boyish way he has.

"Morning. Where are you off to so early?"

She snuggles Draco ever closer, affectionate and comforting. He suspects the affection is for him, while the comfort is for her. "I thought I'd take Benedick to the park."

Oh, is that where they're going? The witch hadn't said…

Potter frowns at her, which immediately irritates Draco. She's in a good mood this morning. It's becoming obvious her skies are cloudy more often than not, and you would think her best friend would believe she deserves a smile. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean… he's not a dog, you know."

Draco makes what he assumes to be a threatening noise at the ponce, but immediately he is soothed by a soft hand scratching behind his ear in a way his marten body seems to like. His back leg twitches on instinct.

"I thought I'd glamour him," she answers. _Of course she thought of that, Potter,_ Draco thinks at the man smugly, and then she adds, "Watch."

The hand scratching vanishes for a moment. Draco is mildly put out and then slightly concerned when that hand reappears and points a wand at him. He doesn't care for being at the wrong end of a wand. Call it a side effect of fighting a war as a teenager, but he squirms in her hold.

"Shh, darling, just a little charm," she coos at him and holds him tighter. Draco knows he could scratch her arm to get away, but he doesn't necessarily want to hurt her. Dredging up as much bravery as he can, he lets the fight leave him and settles into her arms once more.

She mutters a spell and swishes her wand. Draco doesn't feel any different, but her pleased expression tells him she accomplished her goal.

"Not bad," Potter the Prat allows, reaching forward. "Looks like a little terri-ow!" He pulls his hand away quickly as Draco swipes out and catches a bit of skin.

Hermione gasps like she's shocked and disappointed. "Benedick! Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."

"S'fine," he mutters, pressing his scratched hand to his mouth. "Might want to get him declawed."

Draco has a moment of slight panic, but the look on her face puts him immediately at ease. "I can't do _that!_ Do you know how cruel that procedure is?! Not to mention illegal…"

He shrugs, and it seems Potter is done with the conversation. "Well, anyway, have fun."

"Oh." Draco looks up at her heart-shaped face, her features having fallen and her eyes dulled. "I thought I might ask if you were busy. Are you… going out?"

"Yeah, Ron Floo'd. Has some new products at the joke shop he wanted to show me. You know I don't have much use for that sort of thing, but with Fred gone, he's taking it pretty seriously. Really proud to be a part of things, you know? Helps George, too."

He prattles on about the lonely twin and the new Weasley dynamic, straightening his clothes and gathering whatever odds and ends he needs and stuffing them in his pockets like a child. He doesn't even see the look on her face… but Draco does.

She absolutely crumpled. It was only a moment, and maybe it was almost impossible to notice, but from Draco's rather close vantage point it was obvious. She crumpled and withered before his eyes, then promptly shuttered her expression and blanked her face. She's listening now, nodding along with Potter and not saying a word.

Finally, he wraps up his excuses. "Sorry I can't come, though. Maybe another day."

"Right. Right, of course." She does a better job of compartmentalizing; Draco watches it happen. She moves from that blank expression to a facsimile of a smile. It's not her natural smile, not sincere, but Potter doesn't say a word about it then goes on his merry way. What an utter prick.

After the door closes, she sighs and looks down into Draco's little eyes. "Just you and me then, love. That's just fine. You're _wonderful_ company," she assures him, and Draco just almost believes she means it.

* * *

Hermione can't say when the last time was that she enjoyed something as simple, as mind-numbingly normal, as a stroll through a Muggle park. It is a balm to her battered heart in many ways.

Benedick, however, does not seem as peaceful as Hermione; not quite as soothed. Truthfully, he's being a little shite, and it's just mildly adorable.

The glamour had been nothing, of course. The little creature wouldn't feel the magic charming his body to appear as a small canine rather than his true form. A darling little terrier, no one gives him a second look. Hauling a pine marten around downtown London would likely have brought unwanted attention upon them.

What he did not take to, however, was the leash. She even bought him one of those lovely retractable sorts, allowing him a nice long lead.

The moment she clipped the collar around his little neck, he fought against it, gnashing his teeth over his shoulder as if he could somehow gnaw it off. She had snickered a little, watching him twist in a circle, growling and chomping. She will believe to her dying day that he looked at her like he was offended when she laughed.

Once he stopped fighting, his subsequent act of defiance was to plop himself down on his little furry bum and refuse to move. It was a full twenty minutes of Hermione coaxing and cooing, wary of the Muggles giving her some amused side-eye as they passed, before Benedick finally started to follow her on the path. It hasn't much improved since then, but at least now she is walking at a normal pace, her little companion strolling just behind. When she looks back to check on him, she would swear he turns up his nose to look away, like he's giving her some mustelid version of silent treatment.

He's so bloody precious.

What a simple joy to have something to love. Something to care for and prioritize and look after. "You know," she muses aloud to her familiar, "I never had any pets growing up. Not until Hogwarts and then only because I would be taking Crooks with me most of the year." She glances back to see if he looks away again. His head is still tilted away, but his eyes seem focused on her. Almost like he doesn't want to admit he's listening… What a clever little thing he is.

She faces forward again but continues. "I asked my parents for a dog, a cat, a rabbit… I even said I would settle for a gerbil, but they really didn't like the idea of animals in the house. Too messy, my mum said. And too much work." She glances back again and clarifies, "That was my dad. Said he had enough to worry about without taking some mangy creature out for walkies at five in the morning."

Hermione falls silent for just a moment then, living in her own reverie for a moment. She doesn't talk about her family much. Of course Harry and Ron know about her parents. They were with her, of course, just after she obliviated the pair and sent them packing. The lead mind healer at St. Mungo's is also aware. She was, after all, the witch who declared their memories unsalvageable.

Beyond those three people, no one knows what she's done; how she's orphaned herself. She doesn't like to see the pity in Harry's eyes any more than she can deal with Ron's absolute inability to handle anything. His best response is to change the subject when things are uncomfortable. Truly, it's no wonder they didn't work out romantically. Hermione isn't precisely what one might call needy, but if you can't rely on your partner to support your weaker moments, who can you rely on?

Apparently, she muses, your familiar.

"They got a dog," she says, probably too quiet to hear. It feels like a confessional, unburdening to an animal that, while clever, has limited understanding at best. "In Australia. I couldn't… I still can't believe it, honestly. All those years I begged-" Her breath hitches, and she has to stop for a moment, just walking and breathing and blinking her eyes.

When she feels righted, she continues. "All those years I begged for a pet, even a rodent, and they went and adopted a bleeding mastiff." Chuckling in that watery, jerky way of someone on the brink of tears, she glances back again. This time, her little 'dog' doesn't look away. Maybe he can pick up on her baser emotions. Something is very healing about the notion that it feels her distress and acts accordingly on instinct. She is really starting to love this little guy.

"I'd like to think maybe they miss me." Her voice goes soft again, and she looks up at the trees, branches swaying in the light breeze of summer. "Maybe, even though they don't remember they ever had a daughter, they wanted something to love."

Her head bows and she feels her eyes well. So very few tears have been shed for her parents; less than they deserve, but she's afraid if she starts, if she lets herself weep, she's not sure how she will ever stop. Something about saying it all out loud, giving voice to her inner thoughts, has cracked the wall she so carefully built around her tender heart.

"I hate so much that I did that to them. I corrupted their memories...took away their only child, and now they have to get a dog to fill the void even though they can hardly stand them."

Tears turn agitated, and she brushes them away. So much frustration and guilt and blame; all directed at her own actions.

"I know I didn't have many choices. Not any good ones, that is. Let the Order protect them? We see how well that worked for Ted Tonks," she notes, also a little angry with other people. "And of course I couldn't trust them to hide on their own. They were so stubborn," she laments, remembering when she had tried to tell them, in only the most vague terms, about the wizarding war. It had become quickly apparent they couldn't understand the gravity of the situation.

" _Perhaps I ought to get one of those home security outfits,"_ Frank Granger had quipped. " _With a special code to get in the garage and a nice lady on speed dial like on the telly."_

"They'd be dead," she concludes, shaking her head. "At least they have each other. And I-" Her voice hitches again.

What does she have? Harry? Except Harry also has Ron and Molly and all the Weasleys. It's not that Hermione isn't welcome; it's more that she will never have that same feeling she once had. For one brief moment, she thought the Weasleys would be her new family. Once things ended with the youngest son, the dynamic changed. There is a chair at their table now, a chair where Hermione once sat, and it isn't hers anymore. It's next to Ron and permanent and reserved for whoever he makes a wife someday. It will never be hers again.

Hermione knows she isn't alone. She knows she has Harry, and even Ron to a degree, but indulging in a little self pity, she looks down, finding her familiar has caught up to her pace, and smiles. "And I have you," she tells him.

The creature holds her gaze, and she almost thinks she sees recognition in the depths, understanding. On this beautiful summer day, a light breeze rustling her curls and Benedick at her side, she feels one of the thousand fissures that streak and cut her heart seal itself, healed, if only that one small piece. Simple pleasures, life moving forward. It won't always be like this. She won't always be sad; she's sure. It's illogical to believe otherwise, and if Hermione Granger is anything, it's bleeding logical.

She starts to say something to that effect, to keep her confession going with some self realization, but suddenly a blur of brown swipes across her vision and Benedick seems to vanish into thin air.

Shrieking, Hermione scrambles and barely stops herself before reaching for her wand in the middle of a Muggle park. Instead she tightens her grip on the leash and charges to where Benedick is being rolled around by a rather stocky built canine. Sounds that could easily be vicious or play are gruffed and snarled from the beast. "Get off my dog!"

She lunges into the fray, grabbing for her marten and praying to Merlin he will be alright. He lunges for her, as surely as she snags at him, and Hermione wraps her arms around her friend while the dog jumps at her legs.

"I'm so sorry!"

A Muggle man is running toward the scene, a loose leash dangling from his hand with a collar still attached to the end. "He slipped his leash, blasted dog. Percival, get down! Eh, eh!"

The man continues to scold as he approaches until finally he's upon them and grabs the dog by its scruff. "He's just a puppy, really, only nine months. Don't know his strength yet."

Hermione has a surreal moment that she thinks she's staring at Hagrid, Norbert or some other ill-advised beast of a pet doing something destructive. Thinking of Hogwarts, of life outside this moment, snaps her back to reality.

"That animal," she begins, tone haughty and strong, "has no business on a leash of that design." She points at the dainty strip of fabric, studded with tiny silver spikes, and continues. "He needs a harness for his head shape, and he's far too muscular for the strength of lead you're using. Really, we would all benefit if dog owners took more responsibility for their decisions!"

The man looks taken aback. He's probably twice her age, she thinks, but looks chastised nonetheless.

Hermione looks down at the bundle of fur in her arms. Benedick is shaking, his tiny head buried into the crook of her arm.

"Sorry, Miss," the Muggle is saying. "He wasn't trying to hurt him. My Percival is very social; he loves to play. I'm surprised he was so aggressive honestly. Usually tends to be cautious with new dogs."

Well, Hermione could suppose why that is. Percival, the little devil, surely knows what Benedick really is; can likely sniff him out.

She takes a deep breath and puts a fake smile on her face, holding her marten tighter. "No harm done. You really should look into a harness, though."

The man nods and can't seem to get away fast enough. Hermione runs her nose along the arch of her familiar's back and coos against him. "It's over, my little love. I'm so sorry… What a terrible way to start our life in London together." She strokes his fur and continues to offer reassurance until the tension leaves his little body.

"Maybe enough excitement for today," she muses. He looks up, finally, at the comment, and his eyes seem to be narrowed in annoyance.

"You're so sensitive," she tells him, chuckling. Hermione holds him tighter as they make their way out of the park. She's in no hurry to let him go, nor does Benedick seem eager to be put down.

* * *

A fucking nightmare, that's what this is. Draco thinks his tiny mammal heart might explode. Granger has moved on, but he's still bloody terrified. Eyes darting around, he keeps an eye on their surroundings as Hermione walks leisurely back the way they came. Alright, yes, he was somewhat soothed by her petting and whispering and being pressed into her warmth, but he was nearly almost killed!

Staying much longer in this situation, a small animal, vulnerable and defenseless, is not good for Draco's health.

He feels a modicum of guilt surprisingly (he barely knows the witch), but something about abandoning Granger when she has been so kind… There's a touch of regret somewhere deep in Draco's selfish heart.

She's sad, that much is obvious. Lonely, too.

None of that is really his concern, of course. They aren't friends, not even a little. And if she knew who he really was...

Well, he shudders to think what she would do. He has a feeling she would hex him so hard Malfoy generations would feel the effects for all eternity.

No, it's best that he leave, and now before she gets even more attached. Perhaps even before Draco himself forms an affinity for the witch. Who knew she was so compassionate? Not just trying to save broken things in her haughty S.P.E.W. way, forcing her logical and arrogant opinions on the masses, but truly caring.

Not to mention, he'd no idea how alone she was. Obliviated her parents? Is that what he is understanding form her confession? How much more fucking tragic could the witch be?

Before he knows it, his musings have filled the time, and they have arrived back at Potter's home.

"Let's get that glamour off of you then, settle in for the afternoon."

Once inside, Granger is true to her word. She lifts the charm and prepares a bit of lunch for them both. For her, a sandwich of turkey on rye, for him just the turkey, hold the rye. It's not bad, but he eyes the mayonnaise dripping off the side of hers with envy.

In short order, Granger has herself tucked onto a sofa, her sandwich on a small table beside her, and a wide black stick in her hand. Draco watches her press down on the little runes protruding from the top. With no warning, the odd square across the room blares to life, unknown witches and wizards talking. He eyes the contraption, ears laid flat against his head.

Draco isn't stupid, and he's been in the vicinity of Muggleborns enough to know what this is. Something Tracey Davis called a 'tellyvision' if memory serves. LIke moving photographs with countless choices.

He watches while Granger changes the image over and over. Finally, she lands on something she seems to like. Looks terribly boring to Draco. A man at a desk with a smaller 'tellyvision' behind his head. Like Russian nesting dolls, he's watching a picture within a picture, the man describing whatever is taking place. Whatever it is, Granger seems enthralled.

He hears her mumble "Accio" under her breath, and suddenly a plush throw is tossed over her lap. He's surprised when she then reaches over to scoop him up and settles him right on top of her fluff covered legs. Hands stroke his back and scratch at his ears, and Draco lets himself relax into her comfort.

It isn't so bad, right? Comfort goes both ways, so really he's giving what he gets. The guilt is still throbbing beneath his skin, and he does his level best to ignore it as they while away the afternoon, cuddled close.

He starts to pay attention to the programmes she chooses, learning odds and ends about the Muggle world. There is fiction brought to life, like plays but with realistic sets. Muggles make music, diverse and intriguing; some of it just bloody awful. He hears reports of world events, learning that while the wizarding world had been rocked by one war, the Muggle world is constantly in a state of chaos in one country or the other…

How had he not realized how vast the Muggle world would be? It's eye-opening, to say the least. His mind is whirling, possibilities suddenly much greater than he had even realized. He could go anywhere, do anything. The wizarding world, of which he is still very proud, is so limited in many ways. One social network, one culture. There's only one kind of music, for Merlin's sake. Everyone wears robes…

On the 'telly' he sees Muggles in smart professional attire at one moment, bodies barely covered the next. It's thrilling, and he's as much enthralled by the wealth of information as he is luxuriating in his warm spot on Hermione Granger's lap.

A chuckle breaks him out of his revery. "You're really into this, aren't you? Never been in a Muggle home, I'd wager." Pulling him into the bend of her waist, his ears brush the bottom of her breasts. She lifts him higher and kisses the top of his head. "Maybe we can try the dog park again tomorrow. I'll glamour you into a nice big rottweiler this time; make the Muggles keep their dogs on a short leash."

Terror sweeps through Draco at the very notion of returning to that awful place. Suddenly the warmth and intriguing Muggles and Hermione Granger's breasts are somewhat less a priority as keeping his furry little arse safe.

Tonight then, he thinks, tomorrow morning at the lastest: It's time to go. Before the attachment becomes something he will have more than a twinge of guilt when he severs. Before he's done more damage to a witch that deserves at least an apology from him if not downright grovelling.

Tonight.

Granger rests her chin on the top of his head, and Draco snuggles back into the contact.

* * *

That night, Granger leaves Draco to his own devices for a short time. He takes a dinner of berries and turkey in her bedroom while she dines with Potter downstairs. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he transforms, flexing his limbs and enjoying eccentric pleasures like raising his eyebrows, snapping, and sitting on his bum.

He reads a bit, periodicals and books being in plentiful supply, and becomes quite up to date on wizarding news, browsing issues of The Prophet.

Draco is thrilled to read that his mother's appeal to lessen her sentence has been confirmed by the Wizengamot. Narcissa Malfoy will be free of all charges and restrictions in less than a year, date to be determined. He's happy for her, but glad he will be long gone by then.

Lucius' appeal was not, unfortunately for Draco's father, met with such mercy, and the man still faces many years of limited magic and being sequestered inside his ancestral home.

_Too bad for him_ , Draco thinks with very little charity and just a dash of bitter glee. Perhaps it is unfair of Draco. Is he not a product of his own unearned redemption story? He has forgiven his mother for not protecting him, Snape for not confiding in him, and even some of the lesser Death Eaters who, swept up in the same frenzy as Draco, had been a part of his punishments in the Dark Lord's name. But Lucius... he was his _father_. The man had been everything to Draco, only to fail him so spectacularly, he is not sure he will ever fully recover from the hurt to his heart.

Such a Hufflepuff sentiment, Draco might think to himself, but honest nonetheless.

By the time Granger returns to her room, Draco is comfortably back in his furry skin and curled up on her bed, just below the pillow where he slept the night before. His roommate slips into the en suite where he hears water running and, for just a moment, he thinks Granger might be choking. He perks up and is weighing if he should transform and barge in when he hears her spit (so unladylike) and then return to the room. She is clad in a short night dress of pale blue, the bottom of which reaches what he can only consider to be her thigh. "Above the knee" is a vast understatement to where this frock is settled, and Draco curls his body tighter and squeezes his eyes shut.

One last night not to be a complete letch. Surely he can make it that long.

"Such a very good boy," she coos at him as she slips into bed. "You waited and didn't chew on anything or make a mess. You might just be the perfect familiar, Benedick."

Draco thinks to ignore the whole thing; it's not as if he could respond, but then her hand is stroking down his back. He really does like that…

"Sleep well, love. I'll see you in the morning."

The guilt pulses back through once again when he thinks, _No, Granger, you won't._

Sleep never really comes, Draco only slipping in and out of shallow nap on occasion. Finally, at around half four, he extracts himself from her loose hold and slips to the window toward the quickly approaching morning.

Stretching out the window, his paws looking for purchase on the sill as he spies a large tree branch to help lead him down, he looks back one last time. Granger is sleeping soundly, a slight curve to her lips, and he hopes she's having a pleasant dream.

When she turns, however, her arm seeking in the dark, Draco stops and watches. As it becomes evident she seems agitated, he hops back down and crosses the room, stealthily jumping back onto the bed and slinking into his place.

Granger nuzzles into him almost immediately, arm scooping around his body and nose pressed into his neck.

One more morning, he supposes, won't hurt him. He'll let her start her day. Maybe it will be later when she even notices he's gone.

One more day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratitude and love to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal, as well as all of you!

Draco finds his freedom from the old Black home to be a relief but is having difficulty enjoying it completely. Freedom itself has been, obviously, his end goal. It's all he has sought since his hellish sixth year, and the taste of it now is uncannily sweet.

However, it would be folly to deny that he had enjoyed portions of the last couple lazy days, curled up on Hermione Granger's bed, listening to her prattle and soapbox to his furry form, as if she was often in the habit of talking to herself. The time has been relatively quiet, peaceful, and containing an incredible lack of judgement without the necessity of disappearing into the crowds of a foreign land.

It was almost hard to leave Granger's room this morning, but the opportunity had arisen, and who knows when there might be another. It's been four days since they boarded the Hogwarts Express, and she had left him alone very little since the night of his last escape attempt. More than once, he had thought he should have left that early morning while she slept, but then she would inevitably cuddle him close and praise him, and he would feel justified in giving her just a couple more days.

Today, though, she was headed to the Ministry about a job, no doubt some low level position that will not recognize the intellectual gem that is Hermione sodding Granger, and she did not expect to be back until after midday. She had even asked Potter to feed Draco. A detail that secured his freedom without suspicion. She will blame Potter, no doubt, for leaving her door ajar and allowing Draco to escape. Not entirely inaccurate, the tosser had in fact not checked to be sure the door was sealed. It might have taken some time for his tiny marten claws to work at the crack, but for Draco, it has been as easy as strolling out the front door under a Disillusionment Charm.

His first stop had been a small café for something to eat. While Granger had been a very generous pet owner, never expecting him to eat some disgusting processed kibble nor leftover slop, his meals had been simple and plain. To be expected, of course. Draco is more than aware that she researched the very healthiest way to feed her pet, but Draco was craving serious food. Something unctuous and rich and entirely not what is best for him. Two hours later, he is strolling down a Muggle sidewalk, free and full and happy, if only for this tiny fissure of guilt that he tries his best to ignore.

Then, impossibly, he sees her... and the guilt bubbles like a cauldron, undeniable and threatening to consume him from the inside.

She's walking straight toward him, but he knows he will have to speak to her first. Perhaps he shouldn't at all, but there is something within him that is drawn to her. To ignore her now, after everything, feels like an insult he's not prepared to give.

"Granger." He nods, not sure if she has even acknowledged him. She is looking frantically around her feet, eyes wide and a little glassy.

At his voice, she starts, and he knows she had not seen him at all. "Oh! Malfoy..." She doesn't expand, only stares like she hardly has the time for him.

"Strange to see you out of Hogwarts," he tries, hoping for a civil and brief conversation.

"Right. Yes, I imagine it is," she replies, distracted and breathy.

"Do you live near here?" Draco watches her face, and, as such, sees the moment it clicks with her that she is standing on a street in a Muggle neighborhood, conversing with a Malfoy.

"Yes, not far." Suddenly she's not breathy or panicked, but cagey and stern. She doesn't trust him, he knows. He thinks of her small hands scratching at his fur and her warm eyes when she smiles. "What _you_ might be doing near Muggle residences I can't imagine."

He lifts a brow at her bold and agitated tone. What does she imagine, he's here to torture children?

Fuck, it burns to know that is likely exactly what she thinks.

"I'm just taking in some new experiences," he quips, perhaps a touch defensive. "I'll be leaving England and thought I might say goodbye to a city I barely know."

"Oh? Leaving permanently?" She doesn't say it like anything. Not with suspicion and certainly not like she cares.

Draco nods.

She starts to step around him. "Well, good luck with wherever you end up, then."

She's looking distracted again and she's… well, she's dismissing him, and Draco very much doesn't like that. He struggles a moment, watching her body turn to walk around his, and blurts out the only thing he can think. "Are you looking for something?"

She stops and takes a step back, not seeming to like their proximity. "I am…" He doesn't expect more, but then her eyes light up a little, still dim compared to the affection she gave him as a pet, but asks, "You haven't seen any small animals that way have you?" She gestures ahead of herself, the direction from which he came. "I've lost my familiar."

Her eyes are earnest and hopeful, and the guilt is right there in Draco's gut. "What, uh… what type of animal? A cat? Toad?"

"No, no, I have a pine marten." He pretends to look a little unsure so she will keep talking. "Sort of like a weasel. Size of a small cat, long body, dark fur…" Her eyes search his and Draco frowns in pretend thought.

"Yes, I'm familiar. I don't believe I've seen anything like that, though. Sorry, Granger."

_Sorry, Granger_ … It's a phrase he owes her for a lot more than being unhelpful, but maybe it will do for a moment.

She sighs, deflating. "It's alright… I didn't really expect…" She cuts off, and he's never seen her look quite that devastated. Maybe when everyone thought Potter was dead, but to be fair _everyone_ looked devastated that day, Draco included; images of living in a dystopian nightmare flashing through his mind.

He's not quite sure why he does what he does next, pretty certain he won't understand it for some time, but his next inelegant, instinctual comment is, "Perhaps I can help you look?"

The world might stop, or time slows down, or maybe he's just not breathing, but there he is, staring at Hermione Granger and waiting to see if she will reject him in a rare moment of vulnerability. He doesn't like what he's seeing, this very giving witch, sad and lonely and all because of a thoughtless plot on his part. What he will do when they can't find the animal, he has no idea, but watching her walk away with glassy eyes, searching the ground and trees, is not an option.

"You want to help?" Her brow furrows, and there is the distrust again. The hesitation.

"If you wouldn't mind the company," he says as casually as he can. "I have no obligations."

"I thought you were leaving?"

His mind races, searching for a vague and uncommitted response. "I am, eventually. Really, my schedule is my own. I hadn't necessarily committed to today."

"Well… I suppose if you really want to look…" Still wary, but she shrugs in acceptance.

Draco offers a smile and feels pretty good about it. This feels like a victory he didn't know he was seeking. He has the distrust, ire, or pity of the majority of wizarding England. A little acceptance feels like a luxury.

They walk for a short time, side by side. Hermione looks frantically, left to right, peering ahead and peeking back. She scans the other side of the street and around corners, behind fences.

Draco, for his part, looks too, but of course he doesn't expect to find anything. Instead, he tries to engage Granger in small talk. What has she been doing since end of term? Is she from this area originally? Oh, she lives with Potter?

All safe topics, most of which he knows the answer. He doesn't ask about her family or Weasley. He doesn't make comments on her career, Hogwarts marks, or anything that might be stressful. He asks her about books he either knows or assumes she's read that interest him as well. He comments on the details of Muggle life he has been finding curious while in her care. Photographs that can't move but images on large boxes that do. Devices that allow you to speak far away, but can never see someone's face. He mentions trying Muggle food down the street and how delicious he had found it. Slowly, over the brief span of a few streets, she relaxes and offers smiles in answer to his own; chuckles at his dry comments or at the expense of his occasional confusion regarding Muggle things.

At a corner, he finds another restaurant. Smaller than the café where he enjoyed lunch, he asks if Hermione might like to have a drink and rest for a moment. They've walked some time, and it's quite warm today. Some of her suspicion returns to her countenance, but she agrees and follows him inside.

They are tucked into a small table, a tea in front of each of them and their conversation continuing from their walk. A spell Draco does not recognize seems to be allowing them privacy. He wonders if she would teach him what that was.

"But isn't it much better to speak to someone and see their face? I'd never trade the Floo system for these," he waves his hand around, remembering the word, "...tellyphones."

"Then don't compare it to the Floo," she counters. "It's more the equivalent of owl post these days. Letter writing is almost a thing of the past for Muggles."

He nods, but isn't ready to concede the point. "Letter writing, I would think you would be aware, is a much more refined method of communication. How could one woo a witch with romantic verse? Or tell a story without interruption? Or send a list of information, recorded for the convenience of the recipient?"

"Woo a lot of witches with sonnets, do you, Malfoy?" She asks with a slight grin.

He colors a bit, blushes always being far too obvious on his pale skin. "Hypothetically," he mutters and is met with a soft laugh.

Draco sips his tea, searching his mind for a new topic, when Granger beats him to the proverbial punch.

"Is this because we aren't at Hogwarts any longer?"

He lifts his eyes to find her looking at him intently. "Is what?"

"Why you're helping me. And being… _nice_ to me. I half wonder if you're not _you_ at all. Polyjuice or…"

She trails off, looking slightly embarrassed.

Draco might offer her the truth if he could land on what precisely that is.

Guilt, he knows, is a component. She's scouring the city for an animal that doesn't actually exist. He obviously can't tell her that.

Guilt is wrapped up part and parcel with regret as well. How many ways has he hurt this witch over the past nigh decade? He's ridiculed her, threatened her, been a passive party in her torture, and now he's devastated her, completely by accident, with his selfish little escape plan. Perhaps spending the day civilly is a palty means at amends.

Not to mention, there's the quite inconvenient reality that he has known her the past few days in a completely different light and found her to be, at the least, rather appealing.

And so he shrugs, trying to land on a vague, safe, Slytherin answer. "Perhaps I think it's time to move forward."

She studies him, her eyes dancing between his, intense and calculating. He feels pinned by her and sits back in his chair to have a sip of tea and feign nonchalance. "I'm leaving anyway," he adds. "No reason to add more animosity to my time here."

Granger grins a little and cocks her head. "Vague, yet pragmatic," she notes, and he chuckles in agreement.

It feels their time might be coming to a close, the dregs of his tea having gone cold, and his companion beginning to look about the room in search of either a new topic or an escape. Draco thinks he should attempt to gage just how much his disappearance will affect his unknowing savior.

"So, when did you get a pet weasel? Outside the red-haired one," he quips with a smile.

She tries to answer the expression, but it's strained, and Draco already feels terrible. He watches her heave a breath before she speaks.

"Just before I left Hogwarts. I found him, actually… out on the grounds." Her look is a bit far away, and Draco wishes he could crawl within himself and vanish. Fuck, he's making a mess.

He tries for incredulity; tries to talk her out of wanting the blasted furball back. "You brought home a wild animal? Are you sure that's safe, Granger? It could be… diseased." Draco scrunches up his nose in disgust, laying it on thick.

But she just shakes her head. "No, he isn't a normal marten, I'm positive. I actually believe he might have been an orphaned familiar. The headmistress agreed. He's very smart, you see. Almost intuitive." She gazes over Draco's shoulder to the streets of London and adds in a whisper, "I hope he's alright."

Draco makes a decision then, impulsive and out of character, and hates himself a little for it (though not as much as he will hate himself if he continues on his way). He squeezes his eyes closed for just a moment, asking Circe for strength, and offers, "I'm sure he will come back to you then. Familiars tend to roam a bit, but they always come home."

She nods, and he can see she's trying to believe it. "I suppose Crooks did like to wander as well…"

"Your kneazel?" he confirms, the lilt of a question accenting the words.

Granger nods, the look of sorrow impossibly deeper in her eyes. Draco knows, theoretically... cerebrally... that he is not the only one with scars of war, but he has seen more in these few days in regards to Gryffindor's favorite daughter than he might have imagined. She was a winner, after all. A victor and a hero. It's not like she has a shamed family, a father just one more mistake from The Kiss. She is loved and praised and sought after; respected and adored.

Looking at her now, her brown eyes going to glass as she gazes at nothing in particular, he can't deny that she's a bit lost as well. She sacrificed her family. His might be under lock and key, their futures financially unstable and social standing lower than any gutter, but they are alive and within reach. He could owl them right now and expect to receive an answer. Someday, they will likely be free to leave their home, and he might enjoy some semblance of a normal family again. Perhaps when he is older, has a family of his own, they could start again and create something lasting.

After he's finished running away, of course. After he has let go of his bitter resentment.

Granger, though, doesn't have that option. Her parents might not be dead, but, from what he has gleaned, they are hardly alive in any way that matters. Effectively, she is alone, a daft tosser of a best mate and a borrowed familiar her only lifeline.

Fucking fuck, he's going to go back. Merlin's fucking hat on a stick, he's an idiot.

"I've probably kept you long enough," he says, rather gallantly. "I'd offer to see the lady home, but I'm not sure Potter would much appreciate my turning up at his door."

That tricks her into a soft laugh, which makes Draco smile a bit himself. She doesn't laugh much these days, and it feels like a small victory he didn't know he was fighting for.

"I think I can manage," she says after a pause. "But thank you. For the tea. It was... " She laughs again, even a bit more sincere, and says, "Well, it was odd, I suppose, but quite nice. Who knew you could be..."

"Charming?" he tries. "Dashing? Suave?"

"Well, I was going to go for civil, but sure, I'll give you charming. A far cry from slurs and jabs about my hair, at least."

That sobers him right up. Salazar, what is he even doing? As if his presence is what she needs in her life. Then, of course, it's not _his_ that he's decided to give her. It's a fucking pine marten's. He grimaces at the thought.

She must notice the look sour on his face, because she immediately blurts out an apology. "Merlin, I'm sorry, Malfoy. I shouldn't have... I've ruined our rather lovely tea..."

His eyes flit up to hers, and he shakes his head in denial. "No, please don't apologize to me. Ever. I deserved that and more, and I certainly don't deserve your regrets."

"You _didn't_ deserve that. I don't even know why I said it."

Draco shrugs. "Because deep down you meant it." She starts to speak, but he interrupts her obligatory protests. "It's alright, Granger. You don't have to feel guilt for holding a grudge. For what it's worth, which is probably very little," he adds with a mutter, "if I had it all to do differently, my whole life again, I would have made some vastly altered choices."

It's not a great apology, he's aware. Draco doesn't do 'sorry' exceptionally well. But he couples the sentiment with a look as close to penitent as he can muster, and Granger gives him a grin.

"You're rubbish at apologies."

It's his turn to laugh, and they reach something like understanding.

Once the quiet has settled between them once again, oppressive and more awkward than before, he clears his throat and makes to stand. "Well, thank you for joining me today, Granger. If I don't see you before I leave, all the best."

He offers his hand, and she takes it with a surprisingly firm shake. Certainly not the limp-wrist touch of fingertips the pureblood girls are raised to give.

"You too, Malfoy. I'm glad..." Hermione lets her glance dart the room as she searches her mind for the rest of whatever she wants to say. "I'm glad we could do this. Clear the air. I never wanted to see you as the villain, you know. The wizarding world is small. I'd like to think if I run into you over the years, we might be able to do this again. This... civility."

"I'm sure I'll see you around, Granger. Until then." He tips his head and then turns to exit, feeling somehow light, but burdened.

He made amends. Something he was so sure he couldn't do, he hadn't even intended to try. Granted, she's likely the easiest of the trio and even the Order at large. Granger is logical to her core, and he had actually wronged her a bit less than he had some of the others. Potter, Weasley... he'd been much more relentless with the wizards in her life.

It's not enough to change his entire attitude toward life; not enough to make him stay in Britain... but it's a nice feeling nonetheless. In return, he will bring her marten back. A few more days in the country won't change anything. Perhaps he can wean her off of the animal. Disappear slowly instead of all at once.

He turns the corner once he is out on the street and makes his way to a secluded spot. He decides he will give her time to get home, then make himself known as having returned.

And he thinks the entire way that this might be a really big mistake.

Add it to the list.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal, and to all of your reading, commenting, and kudosing :)

Hermione feels drained when she walks back into Grimmauld. Somewhat buoyed by her run in with Draco Malfoy, but ultimately still missing her familiar. It had been strange, having a civil afternoon with Malfoy. A welcome distraction, but now her reality is sweeping her under with a familiar sense of loneliness.

She doesn't look for Harry when she returns, not particularly wanting to tell him that "It's alright" that her familiar was lost under his watch. Hermione knows she shouldn't blame her friend, but she doesn't have the emotional generosity at the moment to absolve him of his guilt. Right now, she just wants to hide away for a while and get lost in a book.

Her meeting at the Ministry had gone well. A position with the Department of Mysteries is likely coming by owl in the days ahead. If not, the apothecary in Diagon is itching to start her with a surprisingly healthy salary for someone with her lack of experience. All she has to do is say the word. Professionally, her life is coming up roses, which has always been one of her highest priorities, yet she can't shake the overall glum feeling that has crept up on her over the course of the last few weeks. Perhaps expecting a pet to pull her up by her bootstraps had been a little unhealthy, but she can't deny it was nice to have something to care about. Something that didn't have many expectations.

She enters her room with dragging feet and tosses her beaded bag on the desk chair. She kicks off her shoes and is starting to unbutton her shirt when she hears a chittering from the bed.

A rather agitated pine marten is eyeing her and making a ruckus.

With a little whimper of relief, she crosses the room and scoops him up into her arms, smashing him against her breast and cooing at him, placing tiny gentle kisses on his little furry head. "Oh, Benedick, I was absolutely beside myself, you little monster! Where on earth had you gotten off to?"

She pulls him away from her and holds him up, her hands cupped under his front legs and long body dangling. "Wicked thing. I bet you're starved."

Benedick chitters again, and Hermione lays him on the bed. "Don't move, I'll be right back." She starts to leave, but then, thinking better of it, shuts and locks the window. "Too clever by half," she mutters, and then makes her way to the kitchen for some marten snacks.

Harry is there when she arrives and jumps off the stool by the counter nearly toppling his tea in the process. "Hermione! I'm so, so sorry! I looked in the back garden and all over the house-"

"It's fine, Harry. He came back." She gives him a sincere smile and watches as his body sags in relief.

"Well, thank Merlin. Less than a week you've been here, and I almost ruined your life already."

She laughs at that and denies it (regardless of how much it had felt just exactly to be true a moment ago). "You hardly ruined my life. Anyway, I should have known better. He's wily," she concludes, quite fondly. Her little scamp really gave her a run around. Speaking of wily little ferrets…

"You'll never guess who I bumped into while I was looking though."

"Do tell?" Harry has retaken his seat and sips from his cup.

Moving to pull her own vessel from the cupboard, Hermione pours from the kettle, just a scant half cup, and leans against the counter. "Draco bloody Malfoy."

"Malfoy? That seems… quite unlikely."

"Absolute insanity, but there's no mistaking it. We spoke, even."

That seems to surprise Harry most of all. "He talked to you? What did he want?"

"Nothing, really," she replies with a shrug, moving to sit on a stool to Harry's right. "We made small talk, and then he walked with me a bit while I looked for Benedick. He was oddly polite actually," she adds with a scrunch of her nose, still a bit confused about the entire affair.

"What on earth was he even doing near here? Shouldn't he be… I don't know… ordering his elves to polish the silver and hosting some sort of beauty contest for the next Malfoy broodmare?"

Hermione snorts into her tea. "One would have thought. But no, he actually said he's leaving England. Just wandering the city a bit before he leaves for good."

Harry's face changes, and Hermione knows it well. She likes to refer to it as the "I bet he's up to something" look. He used to get it a lot during sixth year. Still does when he's thinking about work.

"That just seems unlikely. I wonder if he's up to something…"

She snorts again and lets it evolve into a proper laugh. "Sweet Circe, you're so predictable. What could he possibly be looking to accomplish in a Muggle neighborhood on a Tuesday?"

"Well, I don't know, Hermione," he says back with mock sincerity and a wry smile. "What could he _possibly_ be doing in the third floor corridor after Potions?"

Hermione rolls her eyes but concedes, "Relatively fair point. But I really don't think you need to be concerned. If he wanted to do in some Muggles as a parting gift to England, he could have poisoned my tea."

Harry's brows shoot up. "You had tea with him?"

She regrets saying it immediately. God love Harry Potter, but he is the most suspicious sod in all of Britain. "We walked for awhile and just stopped to take a rest. I was a bit worn out, you know, from looking for my poor lost pet that someone let jump out a window…"

"I knew it!" Harry points an accusing finger at her. "I _knew_ you were still mad. Come on, Hermione, I'm sorry," he whines, and she giggles at him.

"I'm not mad, I swear," she denies, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "But I am absolutely going to keep this in my back pocket for reference anytime you forget that you're imperfect."

He grins back at her, that crooked Harry grin that reminds her how young he is. Her hero friend, savior of their entire world, and really just a goofy teenager with cowlick cursed hair and bad eyesight. Inexplicably, her eyes blur with unshed tears, and he's right there in an instant.

"Hey… 'Mione? What's wrong."

She shakes her head. Even though it's some of the first tears she's let anyone see, they come from a happier place than she's been in some time. It's been a cathartic day. Oddly, she will give Draco Malfoy an ounce of credit. "Nothing. I'm really happy to be here, Harry. Thanks for letting me stay with you."

He pulls her into a hug without warning, standing awkwardly over her, and bending into her space. Awkward and boyish and completely ridiculous. She couldn't love him more. "What else would I do with this big, empty house? You'll help me decorate, right? It's your home now too."

Well, that just makes her sob harder. One loud sob into his chest that is choked through a laugh, and she hugs him tighter. "Of course I will," she finally manages. "You haven't even hung proper draperies."

Pulling back, he rolls his eyes. "It's _one_ room, and that blanket is doing the job just fine for the moment."

Harry takes his seat once again, and Hermione finishes off her tea. "I need to feed Benedick. Dinner tonight?"

Her friend nods toward the oven. "Pork provencal. For _us_ ," he adds with humour. "Not that mangy ferret in your room."

With a laugh and waving the thought away, Hermione agrees, "obviously", with a roll of her eyes and grabs some berries from the pantry. As an afterthought, she also snags a small slice of salmon from a fillet.

"Hey! That's for tomorrow!"

"Oh, leave off, Harry, it's barely an ounce. A treat for coming home," she adds, a bit wistful. "Such a good boy, he is." Her day really did turn around.

Harry doesn't argue anymore, probably still feeling guilty, and Hermione makes her way back upstairs, a small china plate with her little bounty balanced in her hands.

* * *

As soon as Granger left, Draco had checked the window. It is easy enough to return to his wizard body to undo the latch. The sense of feeling trapped had abated quickly, and he had settled in to wait. Likely, she will bring him something relatively palatable. Thank Merlin she hasn't expected him to eat mice or some such otherwise vomit-inducing fare. Even in his marten form, the thought turns his stomach.

She's gone for a bit longer than he initially expected, and he had just contemplated maybe transforming again to stretch his legs, as it were, when he hears her footfalls on the old creaky steps.

The house really could use some repair charms.

Settling onto her duvet as if just waking from a kip, Draco looks up as she opens the door, finding her smiling at him fondly. That smile is all he needs to know he made the right choice. The underlying sadness she had displayed during their tea has vanished, and he can tell she is honestly pleased.

_I did that_ , he realizes, and it does something to make him feel warm. Regardless that it was his disappearance that had caused her despondency in the first place.

"I have something special for you. If you felt like you needed to prowl around for meat, I can take care of that, you know."

Oh, Salazar, fuck me sideways, if she pulls out a dead mouse….

Draco is terrified he's about to be presented with some bulge-eyed rodent when she lays a plate in front of him that consists of a small pile of blueberries and a beautiful cut of sashimi grade salmon.

He looks up at her with appreciation and approval, then takes a careful bite of the buttery soft bit of fish. A little soy sauce would have been welcome, but all in all it's a pretty solid meal.

"Oh, you like that, yes? I'll be sure to keep some fish on hand then. Harry was a bit cross I cut into his," she adds with a chuckle, completely unapologetic. Draco likes that he ranks with Potter. Fuck, it's all he's ever really wanted if he's honest. So what if he's not really himself? It still counts for something. He made her smile over tea earlier today, and she's certainly happy now. Draco Malfoy is capable of making a witch smile, one he probably has no right to speak to anyway. He'll take it. As far as redemption stories, Draco's shaping up rather keen. When he starts his new life fresh, maybe he can do it with a little less self loathing.

She watches him eat, an absent smile on her lips, occasionally petting down his coat. His hind quarters rise on instinct every time her palm brushes toward his tail. He muses what it would be like to tell her she once stroked is bum.

Finishing the last of the berries, he gives the plate a lick with his small tongue, showing how much he enjoyed her offering.

"All finished, then?" The waves her wand over the plate, presumably to return it to the kitchen. "Come on; let's get out of this stuffy room." Granger slides her hands beneath him and lifts Draco from the bed. She cuddles him close, hand cupping beneath him and the other support his back.

She grabs a book from her nightstand and carries Draco from the room, proceeding down the creaking stairs to the first floor. In the kitchen, as they pass, in all his scarheaded glory, is Harry Potter. Granger gives him a wave but carries on. Thank Merlin, he doesn't have to listen to the Potter's inane chatter.

They arrive in a dimly lit room with furniture someone polite would call "cozy". Draco thinks it looks like it was all fished from the rubbish. A dark leather chesterfield with obvious wear is their destination, it seems. Setting Draco down first on the center cushion, Granger takes the seat with the arm and taps her wand on the lamp sitting on the side table. She pulls down the throw from the back of the sofa, mismatched to the room and made of lumpy yarn in too many colors, and throws it over her legs. With a final shimmy of her bum, she seems settled and lifts Draco once more only to lay him across her lap.

She has a book in one hand, her elbow propped on the arm of the sofa and her other hand laying on Draco's back. He hears her sigh in contentment.

"Just perfect," she says softly. Draco looks up at her face to find her smiling down. "Cozy, Benedick?"

He doesn't reply, obviously, but settles in and lays his head on her thigh. There are worse things, he would suppose, than the quiet of the afternoon in the company of a kind and intelligent witch. It's not as if anyone is waiting for him in… well, wherever it is he intends to go. His brilliant escape plan wasn't really all that thought out. Take some money. Go somewhere large where he could get lost. Drink. Talk to witches (or muggle girls for that matter). Maybe take a fly every now and again.

Alright, so he's not exactly talking to witches, and flying hasn't been in the cards, but he has effectively gotten lost from any who would judge or make demands upon him, and he's not precisely lonely. A few more days can't hurt, right? Draco is a smart wizard. He's certain there is a way to escape with a bit more finesse, cause a little less harm, than his first attempt. He just needs to put his mind to it.

In the meantime, he is lulled by Granger's small, gentle hand stroking absently down his coat while she reads. He glances up again, finding her engrossed in her book. There's a way, and he will find it, and they will all be better off when he leaves.

He lays back down and sleeps the afternoon away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to my team! LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal

"Harry!"

Hermione is rushing through Grimmauld with a short missive clutched in her hand. "Harry, are you home?"

Her friend pops his head from around the corner, broomstick in his hand. "Hermione? Everything alright?"

"Oh, Harry, it's just excellent," she breathes out, coming to stop in front of him. Looking him over, she asks, "Are you going flying?"

He rubs the back of his neck in that way that says he's uncomfortable. Hermione almost wishes she hadn't asked. "Yeah. Ron and a couple of the old team asked me if I wanted to come play a little bit of three on three."

Ah, that explains his discomfort.

"Harry, you don't need to be weird about Ron with me. We're still friends." Pausing, she tosses in, "At least, we are as far as I'm concerned, but if he's said anything-"

"No, no, not at all. I just know… I mean, it's a bit strange to be around Ginny now for me."

"Right," she agrees with a nod. "I understand that, but this isn't even me being around him. Have fun, Harry. Give him my best, will you? Maybe someday we can all get together again."

He gives her a relieved smile then snaps his fingers. "Oh, right, you had something you wanted to say?"

"I don't want to keep you from your game," she begins, but he shoos the thought away.

"I have time. Good news then?"

Hermione grins and brandishes her the parchment in her hand. "I've been offered the position in Muggle Relations."

"What?" He snatches the paper with a smile and gives it a glance. "That's the one you wanted, right?"

She tilts her head, considering. "Well, I was interested in the Department of Mysteries, but that's a really difficult position to land right out of Hogwarts. Maybe in a few years. Magical Creatures as well, I thought I could do a lot of good… But this is wonderful, just the same."

Harry pulls her in for a quick hug which she returns, always grateful for their easy friendship. He leans back to ask, "When do you start?"

"Monday!" She's excited, but then the anxiety settles in. "I need new robes. Something much more professional. Something that says I should be taken seriously...Perhaps I should make a trip to Madame Malkins."

Harry shrugs at her, not exactly known for interest in fashion. But attire is important in the professional world. Her parents taught her that. They may not remember her, but she has every intention of doing their memory proud.

A chittering breaks her train of thought before she delves too deeply into the melancholy that surrounds her family.

She looks down and finds Benedick looking up at her. "What are you doing down here?"

"Oh, I let him out. Hope that's alright." Hermione glances at Harry who is quick with further assurance. "I checked all the windows. Just thought he might like a bit more space, is all."

Well, that's actually rather sweet. Hermione finds herself not one bit cross about it. "It's fine. I'm glad you're getting on." She reaches down and scoops her familiar into her arms. "See, isn't Harry lovely?" She would almost swear the marten rolls his eyes.

She looks back at Harry and cues him to be on his way. "Enjoy your game. Should I wait for you for dinner?"

He cocks his head, considering. "Not sure, to be honest."

"I'll just order some take away then. If you're late, it will be here for you."

Smile back in full force, he nods. "Thanks, 'Mione. I'll see you tonight."

She looks back to Benedick as Harry leaves. "Well, I suppose I should take the opportunity to shop while I can. I'll just pop out and back before you know it. Maybe pick up some fresh salmon on the way."

He chitters in a way that sounds like definite approval. Hermione places him on the chair to her left and puts her hands on her hips in a very Molly Weasley stance. "Can I trust you to stay out of trouble if I leave you out of my room?"

The marten looks at her and blinks. He seems innocent enough, so she scratches him one more time for good measure and picks up her beaded bag. "I'll be back soon then, darling. Try not to scratch the furniture."

Spinning on her heel, Hermione takes her leave, dreading the shopping to come.

* * *

Draco, in his own estimation, is the stupidest wizard in the world. What he should be doing, now that Granger is out of the house, is enjoying some time for himself. Though he has shackled himself to the witch for a temporary amount of time, there are plenty of things he could do in his human form that he has missed.

He could go for a fly, for example. He had been envious, watching Potter strap on his gear and grab his broom.

He could read. He might make fun of Granger for being a swot, but Draco does enjoy the literary arts, and the girl has a massive collection of books.

He could have a wank. Merlin knows that has been missed. It certainly hasn't helped that Draco has spent every night cuddled against the soft and supple parts of Granger but trapped in a ridiculous furry form. His mind, however, is always his own, and her sleep attire is far more revealing than her day to day wear. Draco is hardly a letch, and he tries to look away when she is changing or otherwise partially unclothed, but avoiding a glimpse here and there has been impossible, and she certainly has nothing to be ashamed of.

These and more, he could be doing any countless things, but no. Instead, he's making his way to Diagon, as stealthily as possible as not to be seen by too many other witches and wizards, so that he might 'accidentally' run into Hermione Granger.

She had just seemed so happy this morning. More than he'd seen since this whole thing started. Draco is a fucking moron, he knows, but he just wants to congratulate her as a man.

Careful to watch for anyone who might report his whereabouts back to his parents, Draco makes his way down the shopping district, eyeing inside windows for the witch. As anticipated, her first stop was Malkins, and he finds her inside.

The obnoxious bell above the door doesn't allow for surprise, and Granger looks up at him when he enters. She's on a platform, the shop's Madame bustling around, gathering materials and the like. With an easy smile, he greets her. "We have to stop meeting like this."

Her eyes narrow a little as she thinks. "Like what exactly?"

Draco waves his hand around, like the whole thing is very casual. "Out and about. Unexpected, I suppose."

Stepping deeper into the shop, Draco begins to browse fabrics and clothing, lightly fingering the materials and pretending not to watch Granger out of the corner of his eye.

It only takes a moment before she asks, "So you've not left yet?"

He pretends at surprise that she would ask, secretly having been counting down for her to fill the silence. Draco has found that Hermione doesn't do well in the gaps between conversation. Which has been handy as a familiar; she has revealed a lot simply by taking aloud when alone with him.

"No, I'm still kicking around London," he replies, charming grin in place. "What about you? Any luck with your pet?" For anyone else, it would be a bold question, but since he knows the answer it feels like safe territory.

Her answering smile is his reward. "You were right, actually. Which, just so we are clear, is not a phrase I thought I'd ever say to you." They both chuckle, then she continues. "He came back, that very afternoon. I suppose he just needed to stretch his legs."

"Yes, well, they are still wild animals, after all, even if he is a familiar. Perhaps you should trust him to roam a bit more." There, the ground laid for some freedom, perhaps he can begin slowly pulling away, vanishing for, first hours, then days at a time. As Granger settles into her new life, leaving will do less damage. She's a strong witch, he knows. She's just having a rough time adjusting…

"You may be right," she concedes, then laughs softly again. "Twice in so many days. Who would have known?"

"I would, had you asked. I'm fairly intelligent, Granger." Still chuckling, he moves forward, hoping to guide the conversation to her new career. "So what's on the schedule for the day then? New robes?"

She looks down at herself as if confirming. Which is, admittedly, a little fucking adorable. "Oh, yes. I'm to start a position at the Ministry, and I needed something professional-"

"Which is why you should go for the slate grey," Madame Malkin pipes up then goes about pinning the hem once more.

Granger rolls her eyes but with a good natured smile. "As you said. But, unfortunately, grey washes out my complexion so this camel shade will have to do."

"A good choice," Draco compliments. He only realizes how strange it must be for Granger to have him comment positively on her appearance when she looks away with a blush and a grimace, "thanks" muttered under her breath.

Draco watches as Malkin rises from her position, crouched at the pedestal, and bustles toward the back. "Just need a few things, dearie. Won't be but a jiff."

Awkwardness that he hardly understands settles between them, and Draco wonders why, after their lovely tea, she is once again so reserved. "If I might suggest..."

Granger looks back to him, eyes refocusing from where they had been scanning the room, resolutely not looking his way. "That camel skirt is a lovely choice," he ventures, "but I was just walking past Twilfit and noticed a lovely navy ensemble that would be a perfect fit for the first day of your new career."

"What, are you selling women's ready-to-wear now?"

He chuckles at her. "Not at all, but my mother instilled within me a respect for presentation. If Narcissa Malfoy was taking on a new decorator or artisan, she would wear something like this to make sure they knew who was going to be leading the project."

She looks at least intrigued and finally asks, almost trying not to sound interested, "And the skirt?"

He gives her a once over, enjoying an excuse to simply look at her without feeling like a stalker or a, almost literal, rat. "It suits you well, if a little softer-spoken. Perhaps for your second day."

He's surprised when she grins a little. "Good. I was going to get it anyway."

Madame Malkin shuffles back in, a parchment and quill floating behind her and working away and notes regarding fit and measurements. "Alright then, Miss Granger. Should have it all sorted for you before it's time for tea. Go ahead and slip back into your own things."

Hopping off the pedestal, Granger makes her way behind a curtain, leaving Draco standing there feeling out of place.

"Anything I can help you with, Mister Malfoy?"

Any warmth in the woman's voice has evaporated. This. This is why Draco has to leave Britain. He came here to this woman's shop for seven years, paid her overblown prices for rush services and specific tailoring, and she was always happy to take his father's money, but now she is looking at him with something so much more than disdain, it makes his skin crawl.

"Thank you, no, Madame. I'll just be on my way."

"You do that."

He can feel her eyes on him as he leaves by the way he came.

On the street, he takes a breath, deep through his nose, then exhales and counts to ten. He isn't sure if it's now strange to wait for Granger, but if he doesn't, there is no telling when he might be able to speak with her again.

And he would very much like to speak with her.

He has only started to take a step away when that bell above the door rings. The sound, irritating as it is, gives him a reason to look back. Staring at him with a bit of surprise is Granger. "Oh, hello again."

Draco smiles, and it is completely genuine. "Hello again, Granger. Get everything you needed?"

She bites her lip on a grin. "Well, I have a skirt, but it was brought to my attention I might consider something a little bolder."

Smile broadening, he offers his elbow. Whatever awkward feeling had passed between them when he first walked in the shop seems to be gone. Now, they are back to the comfort they had after tea. "I'd be happy to show you the items I meant," he offers, hoping he hasn't overstepped.

She only hesitates a second before taking his arm and gesturing ahead with a bit of put on dramatics. "I mean, I know where the shop is, Malfoy, but lead away."

Stupid, Draco. It's such a stupid thing to do. He will have to tip both of the proprietors, gossips that they are, for their silence. His parents may be stuck at the Manor, but there are enough purebloods who slimed their way through both wars that would love to report back some gossip to his family. Daphne Greengrass's mother for instance would be tickled pinker than Umbridge's office to have something over Narcissa.

So a tip for both Twilfitt and Tatting, running the risk of seeing one of his old circle along the way, undoubtedly being roped into purchases he doesn't need...

He looks over at Granger, her small hand still laying on his arm and a smile on her too-often melancholy face. Fuck him if it isn't worth it.

As they approach, Draco points with his free arm toward a display in the front window. "There. The navy with piping on the seams."

He looks down to find her wrinkling her nose. "It's a bit...fitted. Don't you think? For work?"

Looking back toward the window, he will admit the figure is snug to the tailor's form that displays it but argues, "It's tasteful. Not for nothing, the hemline is dropped below the knee, and with the natural waist, you would want it fitted, lest it appear too young."

They've stopped walking now, and Draco is admiring the dress, waiting for her response. It's a beat or two before he realizes she isn't speaking. With a curious glance her way, he finds her gaping at him. He frowns. "What?"

"I'm just trying to decide if I'm impressed or concerned that you know an exceptional amount about women's fashion."

He chuckles. "Only child, Granger. I spent a lot of Saturdays as my mother's favourite shopping companion. Couldn't help but pick up some jargon." He gestures ahead, not at all liking standing exposed on the street, but tries to play it casual. "Would you like to take a closer look?"

Granger gives him a half smile and shakes her head, amused, or so it seems. "Might as well," she concludes, then removes her hand from his arm so she can lead the way inside. It's only slightly disappointing.

"Hello, my dear, and how might we help you?"

Draco slips in behind Granger as she greets Harrison Twilfit in kind.

"Mister Malfoy!" Draco cringes. The wizard, dressed in a sharply tailored, if slightly garish set of robes, approaches. Hand outstretched, he steps right past Granger and into Draco's very precious personal space. "It has been ages! Well, I was just telling Xavier it had been ages since we had seen any of the Malfoys."

The man's expression drops into something apologetic. Whether it is sincere, Draco isn't sure. "Unfortunate business, of course. We do so miss seeing dear Narcissa, but she did owl over a bit of mending on your father's favorite doxie hair socks. I hope they are well?"

Nodding in reply, Draco manages, "Quite well, Mister Twilfit. My mother will be busy with the gardens this time of year."

"Of course, of course! And are you here on her behalf or…" the man looks Draco over, "perhaps something to update your own wardrobe?"

Draco takes a breath. Living without the massive funds of his family's vault has been easy thus far. He wanted for very little at Hogwarts. Now, he realizes the situation, knowing he will not purchase anything for himself today.

Except silence. He has a small budget for silence.

"Actually, I had just come across my acquaintance, Miss Hermione Granger, who is in need of something truly dynamic. The Ministry is putting her on the fast track, you know. You might be dressing the future Minister of Magic."

Draco winks for good measure, hoping this wasn't a mistake. He doesn't necessarily know the proprietors of this shop to have issue with Muggleborns, but then, growing up who he was, he had always assumed most people agreed with his father.

Until, of course, he didn't.

To his relief, Twilfit looks back at Granger and turns his charm up to eleven. "The venerable Miss Granger. I knew I recognized you. Harrison Twilfit, at your service. Can I bring you a glass of champagne while you browse? A bit of tea?"

"No, thank you," she answers politely but cuts to the chase. "I really just wanted to ask about the navy piece in the window. It was suggested to me that it might suit my needs."

Beaming, Twilfit lays a hand over his heart and gives her a calculating once over. "Oh, mercy, yes, of course it will." Flicking his wand to the window, he summons the garment. It slips itself off the mannequin and floats to just in front of Granger, lining itself up with her frame. "A bit of a hem, perhaps," the tailor notes. "A tuck there at the side seam… Would you like to try it on?"

She glances back at Draco as if she needs his support. Why such a confident and strong witch needs the likes of him to support her in any decision is a mystery, but he smiles and encourages her with a little gesture, flicking his wrist towards the changing rooms. "You came all this way to see it, Granger. May as well give it a go."

"I really detest shopping," he hears her mutter, and quirks a smile in her petulant direction.

"Nonsense!" Apparently, Twilfit heard her as well. "You've just been shopping in the wrong places. We'll take excellent care of you. And when you're Minister, remember your roots, darling girl."

Even Granger smiles at that. Twilfit can be very charming. If it's genuine, he might be the most pleasant wizard in Diagon. Lucius always questioned how anyone could be that honestly polite. But then, Lucius' opinions of the human condition have proven quite flawed.

As Draco turns to wander amongst the garments and fabrics, Granger slips to the changing area. A posh and private suite at the back of the store, the space is a far cry from the heavy green brocade curtain at Malkin's that hides a cramped bit of real estate with water stains on the rug. Twilfit follows, presumably waiting in the area just outside the private room. Draco has been back there many times. Standing on a carpeted pedestal and surrounded by gilded mirrors at all angles, he felt like the star of his own show as a child, sneering at Twilfit as the man had bent and stooped, pinned and measured.

Draco no longer thinks that so much attention is required nor welcome.

Speaking of attention...

"As I live and breathe, Draco Malfoy... I thought I heard your voice."

Draco looks up as Twilfit's partner, the slightly older, very refined, and markedly less pleasant Xavier Tatting saunters into the room. "You're looking well," the man drawls.

Draco knows how he looks, thanks very much. His robes are from two seasons prior, a stylistic faux pas he never would have suffered in his younger years. His hair is a bit long, nails unmanicured. If he were anyone else, Draco would simply appear to be a young wizard, not known for the frivolities of appearance. But as a Malfoy, Tatting has seen him buff his nails on his overpriced robes, hair charmed to remain unmoved in the most unsettling of winds. Anyone else, yes, but for Draco Malfoy, under the inscrutable eye of this particular wizard, he must look a mess.

"Mister Tatting. A pleasure, as always."

"Indeed, such a pleasure. Tell me, is your lovely mother with you this afternoon? Not to bring up unpleasant business; it's only, there is the matter of a balance on her books..."

Draco is mortified, and tries very hard not to show it. His mother has never in her entire life had a bill she could not wave away as if hundreds of Galleons were no more than the change lost in the folds of her handbag. Draco knew his family would be struggling, but he is not sure the extent to which their debts reach.

Thank Merlin, he has his own private account. The Ministry couldn't touch the money that came straight from his Black inheritance. It is no Malfoy fortune, but the least he can do is settle a small debt for his mother.

"I do apologize. My mother has been so concerned these past weeks, looking after Father and the Manor. I can take care of that for her."

Draco brandishes his wand and points it toward the parchment laid on the counter between them. The Gringotts seal marks the top corner. "How much?"

Tatting looks down his nose at Draco. "One hundred twenty-four Galleons."

Ridiculous. Draco has never before needed to understand value, but now he does. What the fuck did his mother buy, gold knickers? Not letting on how much it pains him, Draco starts to tap the parchment, a gesture to charm the promissory note with his credentials. He hopes his mother appreciates this. Then, he hesitates.

"Perhaps we make it a nice, attractive number. One hundred forty? A thank you, you understand, for not mentioning my involvement to Mother. Wouldn't want her to feel I overstepped."

The man eyes him, and Draco licks his lips. "Perhaps even, you and your partner forget I was in your shop today at all... in case any curious party were to ask."

Tatting is a shrewd man and not always terribly nice, but he likes a little extra gold and has no vested interest in the goings on of a washed up family like the Malfoys. The wizard nods once, and Draco taps the parchment.

"Oh, dear girl, you are perfection in dupioni silk.."

At the sound of Twilfit's voice, Draco looks toward the back of the store, intrigued despite himself. He saunters around the corner, hoping Granger is fully dressed and will not be offended by his curiosity. He peers cautiously around the door frame, first catching a glimpse of Twilfit. The wizard is cupping his chin in his hand as if in deep affected contemplation. When he looks up and catches Draco's gaze, he motions for him maniacally.

"Oh, Mister Malfoy, come! Come!"

Draco follows as instructed and steps into the room.

On the pedestal, Hermione Granger is the prettiest witch in London, regardless of the unsure twist of her mouth. "I feel ridiculous. This is not office wear."

"On the contrary," Twilfit asserts, "this is the most chic of Parisien day wear, perfect for a career oriented witch with ambitious goals. Don't you agree, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco almost misses his cue, gawking as he is like a lovestruck fourth year (which is, incidentally, the first time he gawked at this particular witch).

He snaps his mouth closed and plasters a charming smile on his face. "You could run the world, Granger, and the people will beg you for the privilege."

Granger rolls her eyes at him. "I'm just starting in Muggle Relations, not representing England at the UN. You don't think it's too much?"

Not sure what the "Ewe Inn" is supposed to be, Draco thinks he can pick up on at least a general context. Irrelevant, he simply answers her last question. "It is not at all too much, and you honestly look incredible."

Well, look at that... Granger blushes and looks away, fiddling with the piping that lines the seam at her collar bone. A demure Granger is rather alluring; almost as much as a bold one.

"Maybe I can dress it down with a sensible shoe-"

"Dear Merlin, you will do no such thing!" Tatting has joined the party and doesn't employ the soft sell methods of his partner. "You, you dynamic witch, will strut yourself in a red pump with a lip to match and the Ministry will never forget you."

Draco sees her hackles start to rise and tries to reign in two very strong personalities. "Granger, forget the shoe. It's a detail. But the dress makes a powerful statement. You'll be taken seriously at first sight; then you can let your brain prove just how capable you are."

He watches as her eyes land on the three wizards watching her, then back to her own reflection. She turns just barely to the side, checking her profile. What Draco doesn't say, because he's pretty certain it wouldn't be welcome, is how divine she looks from his particular angle.

I.e. from behind.

With a monumental sigh, she concedes. "How much is it?" Her hands pat around, trying to find a label or tag. Draco knows she won't find one. Twilfit finds money tacky in the context of fashion. It's a bit of a hindrance to a business model.

"Well, I had hoped Lady Greengrass might take a shine to this one, but for the future Minister of Magic…?" He winks at her. "Fifty Galleons."

It's an incredibly fair price by comparison to items he's watched his mother purchase, never batting an eye.

"Fifty," Granger repeats, as if she's weighing options. "For dupioni?"

"Only for you, of course," the tailor quickly agrees.

"It's only that, with the silk trade with Muggles a bit in turmoil, dupioni is sitting at six Galleons per yard. And with the construction, I can only assume you have four yards in the dress. Twenty-four Galleons cost for you, not even considering what you must value your own artistry; it seems as though this might actually be shantung?"

She smiles sweetly, and both proprietors blink.

Finally, Tatting steps in and smoothly agrees, "Shantung, that is to say. So difficult to tell the difference really."

Smile just a bit broader, Granger answers, "For some."

"Right," Twilfit rushes to add. "So, of course, I meant it would be forty-five since it is shantung-"

"Forty. Relations with the silk trade out of China are much stronger, keeping costs low. I think in light of the fabric, forty seems very competitive."

He swallows. "Forty. Yes, exactly so."

"Then, it looks like I'm ready for Monday. Can you have it sent over once you've finished the alterations? I'll leave you the address."

A more sincere smile returns to Twilfit's face; negotiation over, sale is made. "Our pleasure, Miss Granger. If anyone at the Prophet happens to ask who you're wearing, you will give us a nod…?"

"Gladly, Mister Twilfit. I'll just change then."

Draco watches her glide to the private room and grins after her. Just full of surprises, this witch.

* * *

Feeling quite pleased with herself, Hermione finishes her transaction and follows Draco out of the store. He opens the door for her and gestures that she precede him. So mannerly, she notes.

On the street, he gives her that winning Malfoy smile. It's a shame he spent so long smirking and sneering at everyone. He really does have a handsome and rather boyish face.

"Masterfully done," he tells her. "Here you had me convinced you knew nothing of fashion."

She frowns, withdrawing quickly. "Meaning?"

He must realize how it sounded because he quickly apologizes. "Nothing in regards to your appearance. Only you seemed so unsure in Malkin's, I didn't assume it was something you'd given much attention."

With a shrug, she counters, "I'm versed in many things that don't regularly affect me. I can tell you about the mating habits of the Norwegian Ridgeback, but there are no amorous reptiles in my back garden."

She's rewarded with a chuckle. " _Touché_ , Granger." A beat of silence passes in which she thinks to fill with a farewell until he continues. "I'm glad you chose the dress. It's stunning on you."

Silenced momentarily by flattery, not for the first time today, she tries to play it off casually. "Well, regardless of the material quality, the construction is beautifully done."

"It's a well made dress," he agrees with a nod. "But you certainly improved the effect it had on the mannequin."

"Draco Malfoy, are you trying to sell me something?"

He laughs again, and Hermione feels her own lips twitch upward. "I'm just naturally charming, Granger, and I find I'm sincerely pleased to meet you finally, without everything in the way. You're a very interesting witch."

"For a Muggleborn," she challenges but is careful to keep her tone light, as if it's a bit of a lark. He's proven to have come at least somewhat beyond his bigoted past, and she is curious how he will answer.

"For anyone," he says with a broad smile and no hesitation. She finds that she pretty readily believes him.

"Thank you for the suggestion," she offers politely. I'm sure you had other things you could have been doing today beyond shopping for witch's clothing. One you're not even dating," she adds with a light laugh.

"I can truthfully say I had nothing else on my plate today. Further, I rather enjoyed myself. Watching you negotiate is quite appealing," he adds, wriggling his eyebrows at her. She laughs once again in turn. Has she laughed this much in days? Weeks? Maybe because she doesn't really know him all that well, despite their history, but being around Draco is oddly refreshing.

"Do you have any other business in Diagon? Somewhere I can accompany you to return the favour? Maybe I can talk them down on Quidditch gear or something," she throws out with a grin. He laughs again, the air between them breaking down into something so familiar, it's almost frightening.

"I should probably be heading home," he says, and almost sounds regretful.

"Oh yes? A witch you've kept waiting?" _The fuck…?_ She regrets asking it as soon as it passes her lips, but she's too curious not to know.

He pauses for a moment, studying her, then answers, "I can honestly say I have no one waiting for me, at home or otherwise. I just try to stay out of the public eye most days."

She deflates a little at that. As much prejudice as Hermione experienced before the war, she's sure he's experiencing his fair show in the afters. She saw a taste of it first hand at Hogwarts. Draco kept to himself, and, when he didn't, usually a Gryffindor, possibly aRavenclaw, was there to remind him why he should.

"Would you like to have tea," she blurts out, immediately wishing to hex herself. _Not smoothe, Granger._

Clearing her throat, she amends. "I was thinking of that tea shop we went the day I ran into you. It's Muggle, so you don't really have to worry about being seen, and I could go for a chai…"

He's only quiet for a second. Only a breath. Just long enough to start rehearsing a retraction; a 'of course that's a silly idea and I'm sure you're not interested' sort of word vomit, but he, once again, comes to her rescue.

"That sounds excellent. They had some lovely looking scones at the counter."

Her smile brightens, and, this time, she offers her arm to him. "If you don't mind side along?"

Taking her arm with his warm hand and elegant fingers, no hesitation at all, he nods. "Don't splinch me, Granger, or tea is on you."

Her giggle is sucked away into time and space as they vanish.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love to my team LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal

Draco Apparates back to Grimmauld and finds a hidden spot near Potter's house to transform. Back in his little marten form, he shakes himself once, acclimating himself to his tiny toes and furry body, then scurries through the garden and up a tree to Granger's window. He hardly has time to curl up on the bed, feigning sleep, before she opens the door and steps into the room.

"Good afternoon, Sweetheart," she coos at him. "Did you have a nice little kip?"

Draco stands on his four limbs and stretches his body out long and straight, gaping his maw as if a yawn overtakes him.

Her hands reach down and lift him from the bed, holding him close, and he cuddles back almost on instinct. There is nothing at all really 'normal' about being an Animagus, about living as a small mammal, but the feeling of being close to Granger is coming very close to natural.

"I had a very nice day myself," she tells him and carries him from the room. "Let's see what Mister Potter is doing this evening, yes?"

Draco could not give two knuts about what Harry Potter is doing, but he is curious if she will mention the shopping excursion and repeat of tea they just enjoyed together. Perhaps he should feel guilty, but the opportunity to hear her perspective on their time together, uncensored and no punches held, is just too good to ignore. He was sorted into his house for a reason, after all. Some may call it slimy, but snakes know how to stay low to the ground and view the world around them.

He settles in a bit more to her hold and turns his head to watch as they decend the steps.

"Harry?"

"In here!"

Granger picks up her pace a bit, and carries Draco into the sitting room on the first floor. Potter is there, buffing a leather treatment onto his shin guards. The smell hits Draco's small nose and is almost enough to gag him with his enhanced senses. Where on earth did Potter buy this rubbish?

Perhaps his senses are not the only reason it strikes him because his host slows her pace and crinkles her nose. "Merlin, Harry, what on earth is that?"

"Tindall's Treatment Potion. It's meant to protect Quidditch leather, but it is a bit foul, yeah?"

" _Yes_ ," Granger agrees with emphasis. "It certainly is. Why not just use a Muggle polish? They aren't nearly that offensive."

Draco doesn't know about trusting Muggle products, but anything is better than this. Quinton's Quality Quidditch makes a very effective potion without any of the odor. Draco supposes it was more expensive, but sometimes the cost is just worth it.

"It was on sale," Potter replies, and if Draco could snicker in celebration of his own intuitiveness, he would.

Shrugging off the conversation as unimportant, which really it is, Granger takes a seat next to her friend and watches him continue buffing the guards. "So, you'll never guess what I just did?"

"Went shopping? That's in itself a rare occurrence for you." Potter's grin is cheeky, and Granger huffs a good-natured laugh.

"Yes, yes, bookworm Granger, hardly even a _girl_ ," she mock agrees. Draco, held right up against her perky chest, disagrees wholeheartedly. "Yes, I shopped, and was successful by the way, but after that. Guess who I came across in Diagon?"

Not seeming too interested, he guesses, "George? No, wait. Dean. He said he was headed to Diagon after our game."

She shakes her head, a mischievous grin on her face. "Not Dean... _Malfoy_."

"Again?" Potter's confused and dubious look turns suspicious. "Is he following you, do you think?"

Granger rolls her eyes, scratching Draco on the top of his head. He doesn't appreciate Potter's question, but then she hits that spot that makes his back leg twitch involuntarily.

"I hardly think I rank high enough to Draco Malfoy to warrant following me. Though, I must say, he was very pleasant. Much like when we had tea the other day. I don't think he said one nasty thing the entire time." The look on her face is of sincere surprise, as if she had hardly noticed until now that they'd not been at each others' throats. He wonders if there will ever come a time she won't assume him to be a prick, expecting instead for more of the civility they shared today.

Draco nudges her arm with his nose. He hopes by the time he leaves she might have found some forgiveness to dredge up for a former Death Eater.

"Did you feed Benedick at all while I was out?"

Potter shakes his head. "Never even saw him. I looked when I got home, but he wasn't in your room."

Granger looks down at Draco, tickling under his chin. "And where did you hide all day then, hmm?" Draco just lifts his chin so she can better scratch and pretends to be innocent.

"Probably just fell asleep somewhere," she comments, looking back at Potter. "I bought a dress."

His eyebrows lift. "Quite out of the box for you."

"I know… I was shopping for some basics at Madame Malkin's when I ran into Malfoy and he suggested I try-"

"Wait. Stop, please." The look of disbelief on his face becomes highly amused. "Malfoy, pureblood bully who once broke my nose, gave you fashion advice?"

Draco cringes. Alright, that was a pretty shite thing to do, he would suppose… then again, so is eavesdropping under a fucking Invisibility Cloak.

Nevermind that particular guilt. He'd say they are even.

She nods. "He did, actually. And though it wasn't what I imagined myself wearing, I must admit it seemed like a good choice. It's being tailored then owled over."

"So what should we do with your last weekend of youthful freedom?" Potter asks her, grinning. "Before you turn into a serious Ministry representative?"

Granger chuckles at him. "I was thinking about having a bit of a lie down. Maybe organize my room a bit tomorrow."

"No fun," her friend argues back. "I think we are going to go out. Celebrate the beginning of your career." He looks triumphant, like he just found a cure for dragon pox. Merlin, it's not that brilliant, Potter.

Looking unsure, she asks, "Just us?"

"Erm…well, I thought maybe a few more. You said you wanted to try to see Ron again, so I may have mentioned it today."

"Harry…" She sounds chastising, her face twisted into a look of disapproval. Honestly, she sounds like Narcissa Malfoy when a young Draco would leave his Quidditch guards laying about the Manor or hang a preposition.

"Just one drink," Potter tries. "Ron said he's really missed us hanging out. And Dean thought he might like to have an excuse for a pint; was going to Floo Seamus."

She groans, tossing her head back in annoyance. "When?" she finally asks, levelling Potter with a look.

Sheepish and faux innocent, her stupid friend mutters, "Tonight? In about..." He looks at the clock on the mantle. "A bit over an hour? Around seven."

Draco feels his body lifted as Granger rises from the sofa. She hauls him up toward her shoulder, cupping under his bum to support his weight, and her other hand splayed across his back to hold him close. "Well, I suppose then, I'd best go get ready."

"It will be fun," Potter tries. "We had a good chat today, Hermione. Ron isn't angry or anything."

Her chest fills with a breath that she releases into a sigh, her breath fluttering the fur on Draco's neck. "I'm glad he's not angry, Harry, and I did say I wanted to see him." She starts walking up the steps, and, halfway to the top finishes low, not intended for anyone to hear, "I just wasn't ready for it to be tonight."

In her room, Granger pushes the door closed by leaning against it, cuddling Draco close. She draws him away from her body finally and looks at him very seriously. "Benedick, would you like to come along on a bit of an outing? Meet my friends?"

Draco stiffens. It's one thing to pretend to be a familiar in a bedroom or out on a street amongst strangers, but with a pub full of fucking Gryffindors? He's not sure what a grimace looks like on his marten face, but whatever it is, he does it now.

She walks him across the room and lays him gently on the bed with one last long stroke. "I'll just grab a quick shower, Darling."

Snatching a bathrobe off the back of the desk chair, she walks to her en suite, undoing the buttons on her blouse as she walks. Draco looks away until she has closed herself in the room. He hears the spray of water as it hits the shower tiles and Granger's voice, muffled on the other side.

She sings in the shower? Well, that's fucking adorable. Draco curls up for a bit of rest. Sounds like it will be a long night.

* * *

Draco hates pubs. He's never particularly been the type of wizard who would enjoy the loud, crass, dirty atmosphere and cheap liquor. Raised to aspire to more refined types of indulgences, Draco watched his father entertain his contemporaries in one of the more masculine rooms in their home, cigar smoke wafting, as the wizards discussed politics, finances, and, occasionally, literature over well-aged scotch from flawless crystal.

Here is life juxtaposed, shabbily dressed patrons guffawing at one another, splashing some bottom shelf swill from their chipped cups as they yell back and forth about what bird they are shagging or used to shag or wish to shag or... Quidditch scores.

Even in his marten body, cuddled against Granger, he just feels dirty and is grateful no one can see him here. There are a lot of faces he knows, most of whom he would not lament if he never saw them again.

At their table is Potter, naturally. To his right is the King Weasel himself. Beside him the quintessential Gryffindor duo Thomas and Finnegan, likely shagging as Draco's senses can smell them on one another but obviously not owning up to it as they sit with an empty chair between them. Next to Granger is Luna Lovegood... great. More guilt to pile on. Thank Merlin he doesn't have to make small talk. "Hey Lovegood, sorry about that time we locked you in our dungeon." Though, the girl does keep eyeing him, and it makes him nervous. He wonders if any of her invisible creatures can sniff out an Animagus...

And next to Luna, chatting casually with Finnegan, is Theo bloody Nott. So an eagle and a snake amongst the lions. Draco wonders what his friend is doing with this social network. He can hardly begrudge him, of course. Draco is MIA, Zabini in Italy, Parkinson trying to 'find herself'... It's good he made some friends.

"I didn't know you had a familiar, Hermione."

Lovegood's ethereal voice filters through the din, somehow projecting over the cacophony of boisterous noise. Granger scratches Draco and nods. "Not long. Benedick has only been with me a few days really."

"He's a strange one, for a pine marten," Luna notes. "Terribly affectionate as well."

With a shrug, Granger agrees, "He is. The absolute sweetest ever since I found him. I think he might have been a familiar before the war. Maybe someone we lost," she finishes a bit more quietly. Not as though she is so affected, but with a tone of respect.

"I think it looks like a ferret," Weasley pipes up. For the first time, Draco wishes he had a voice so he could tell the tosser that he should know, sharing a litter with a bunch of weasels himself.

Stiffly, Granger returns, "Are we going to have another issue with my familiar, Ron Weasley?"

The table holds their breath, Potter most of all seeming incredibly uncomfortable, before the red head slumps a bit and says, "No," somewhat petulant and all together put in his place.

"I like it," Thomas tosses out. "Way better than a toad or something."

"Or a rat," Finnegan offers, and they all glance to Weasley before laughing.

"Ha ha," Weasley answers with a sneer then argues, "Scabbers was a great pet... err.. until he, you know..."

"Turned out to be a grown man with hygiene issues and a piss poor loyalty?" Nott pipes up. Draco thinks his friend might have crossed a line, but Potter snickers and Finnegan outright laughs.

"I think we need more drinks," Granger throws in, and Draco can tell she's trying to rescue Ron from further ridicule. The prick has the nerve to look at her with gratitude when it was his nasty comment about her new familiar that started all of it. It might be insignificant, but Draco thinks he just gleaned a lot about how their relationship works. Weasley starts something he can't finish, offends people, has his arse verbally handed to him, and then Granger smoothes it over. No wonder she dumped the git.

"I'll help, 'Mione." Weasley rises from the table and walks around to collect the witch. Draco feels himself lifted away from her body and set down on the table. "Harry, will you watch Benedick just a moment? I have some blueberries in my bag if he gets anxious."

Draco watches her go, not liking how Weasley seems to take the opportunity to stand too close, act too familiar. At the bar, she leans against it while the wizard crowds her space, lightly touching her as they speak. Barely there fingertips laid against her wrist, his palm softly brushing at her shoulder as if to remove some light dust or dirt. Granger looks slightly uncomfortable, but then the round of drinks arrives. She lifts a glass and hands one to her companion. They clink their small glasses and she takes a shot, shuddering at the taste then laughing at her own reaction. Weasley grins and signals for two more to replace them, and Draco thinks all of this reeks of bad idea.

Balancing too many small glasses in their hands, Granger and Weasley return, setting a glass in front of each companion before picking up their own.

"To house unity," Granger calls out, sending a wink over to Lovegood and Nott.

"To old friends and new," Potter agrees, lifting his glass.

"To the ones who really matter," Weasley joins, giving Granger a significant look. She looks away, then they all take their shots.

Draco can feel the warmth radiate from Granger, can smell the liquor now sitting heavy on her breath, and hopes she knows what she's doing.

* * *

One drink... Hermione vaguely remembers agreeing to, _intending_ on. One drink. How is it she is pressed into Harry's sofa, a tall and familiar wizard stretched across her?

There are gaps in her memory, wide gaping blocks of events she can't recall, and her brain feels fuzzy, vision dark and blurred. She is cognizant enough, though, that she knows she doesn't want this. Not anymore.

"Ron," she slurs, pushing against his chest. He mumbles her name back, as if she was merely calling out to him in the throes. "Ron, stop..." Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, and she is almost uncertain if she even spoke out loud.

He mumbles again, lips pressed against her neck, muffling his voice, then he continues sucking at the spot below her ear.

She hates this. Hates it so much, it makes her think more clearly. Hates the feeling, almost painful and definitely ticklish suction, meant to bruise. Hates that he is marking her like a possession, carving his name on her bark. Hates that tomorrow, she will have to glamour the dark place on her skin. She pushes at him again, more lucid than before. "Ron, get off!"

This time he sits up, and she realizes that her blouse is unbuttoned to well beneath her bra. His hand is cupped over her breast, and his knee is pushed against the junction of her legs. "Wassamatter?" He's at least as obliterated as she; perhaps more.

"I can't," she mutters, unable to articulate any better, and pushes him further away so she can stand. On shaky legs, she backs away from her former lover, keeping her hands braced on furniture for support, her blouse still open. At her feet, Benedick is chittering loudly.

Ron stands now as well, looming in spite of himself, slave to his own height. "S'at your ferret?" He squints and sways.

Picking up her familiar, Hermione cuddles him close, hiding her face in his fur. "Tired," she says then tries to be more coherent. "M'tired. See you, alright?"

"Wai... you're leaving?" He furrows his brow, confused. "I thought we were gonna..."

Merlin, how did they end up here? They were at the pub and dancing, laughing with their friends. She drank too much; that, at least, is obvious.

It's at that moment Harry enters from the door on the opposite side of the room. "Oh, I'm sor... Hermione?" He looks concerned that he interrupted, but for different reasons after a double take. "Ron?"

Hermione holds Benedick tighter, using him to shield her chest. "Harry, I was going t'bed," she works out, words muddied and running together, not nearly as decisive as she had intended.

Harry glances at Ron then back to Hermione, nodding in understanding. "Of course. It's late. I'll see Ron to the Floo."

With a final muttered, "G'night", Hermione flees and stumbles up the stairs. In her bedroom, she has enough presence of mind to realize she is in desperate need of a Sober Up. She rifles through her medicine cabinet, knocking over Muggle bottles and pushing aside magical potions, until her hand closes over a small vial, single-serve size. With one quick gulp that reminds her of taking a shot she'd entirely forgotten about, Hermione snaps her head back to look at herself in the mirror as the potion takes effect.

Fucking hell...

Pieces of the evening flood back with so much force, she crumples and leans over the sink, eyes squeezed closed, struggling to find mental purchase.

_One shot_ , Ron had goaded. She knows he hadn't meant any harm, his grin boyish and open. He had been happy to see her, he said, and she had returned the sentiment sincerely. The first drink had been sweet, almost sickly so, and Ron had grinned at her, licking his lips and feeling so familiar, so _Ron_ , her walls had broken down and she had ordered another, taking back a bounty of the same for the entire table.

By midnight, she had been out of her mind but denied it profusely. Theo Nott was the first to leave, kissing the back of Luna's hand gallantly and clapping Harry on the shoulder on his way. Dean and Seamus were next. Eventually, it was just the golden trio. Her mind clearing, face ashen in her bathroom mirror, Hermione is piecing together the fragments of the night and remembers Harry asking if she was ready to leave. She was fine, she'd said, and she wanted to stay.

Harry hadn't argued and even offered to bring Benedick home. Hermione had transfigured a hat in her handbag for a cage and accepted the offer.

After that, the fragments of her memory, even with the sober up at work, are fractured beyond full recollection. They had danced, she and Ron. In a wizarding pub where no one dances, he had spun her to the low music, and they'd laughed like they had before the war. He had apologized for his silence these past weeks, admitting his heart had been a bit too broken to see her.

She cried at some point, and he had held her, petting his calloused hand down her curls and shushing her softly. He'd kissed her, and it had been delicate, his dry lips brushing against her forehead. A kiss of healing and comfort, of a friendship mending and a lover lost.

The next had been different, though she has no idea how much time happened between. They hadn't been dancing anymore, but sitting alone at the table they had shared with their friends. Heat simmered this time, the discovery and excitement flooding back like instinct. Her lips had answered, pressing harder, taking more. Drunk and lonely, it didn't even seem to matter that it was Ron, but only that it was someone good and trusted and loved. She had fitted against him, just as she had last summer, tucked into his longer lines and angles. His breath in her ear, his hand on her waist, she had indulged herself in companionship for which she would never admit she has been starved.

He had offered to see her home. Apparition had been out of the question for either of them, so it must have taken a bit of time before they had stumbled into Grimmauld, whisper yelling at each other to be quiet lest they wake Harry. She can't recall most of the walk, only that he had stolen a kiss in a doorway, pressing her against a brick facade. She knows it was brief and can't remember how it stopped.

She had giggled when she tripped over Harry's shoes by the door, and Ron had fumbled with her clothes, her mind in a thousand places and barely aware she was little more than a ghost, a spectator, floating through her own existence.

On a musty sofa, eventually and much too late, her mind had awoken, rejecting her circumstance, logic and self agency warring with the blessed numb ignorance of intoxication. She had known, somewhere, that this isn't what she wants. It felt so familiar, romantic and fated, but reality is much harsher in the light of sobriety, and now Hermione remembers why it all ended.

She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, the pounding headache she rightfully earned demanding attention. What a disaster. All that carefully crafted distance, the arguments and assurances that they were not suited for one another undone by one heavy snog. Hermione retreats back to her bedroom and falls hard onto the bed, burying her face in her hands.

Benedick is right there, no longer making agitated noises, but simply sitting beside her, nose pressed against her knee.

"Hermione?" A soft knock, then Harry's concerned face peers around the crack of the door. "You alright?"

With her head still in her hands, she returns a muffled and miserable, "No. I'm a right idiot, Harry."

She looks up to find sympathy on his face and a glass of water in his hand. "Hydrate," he says firmly, and she accepts, taking a long pull of the drink.

He sits beside her for a long time, on the opposite side of Benedick.

"I messed up, didn't I?"

Harry shrugs. "You're allowed to do that, you know."

Hermione shakes her head, eyes stinging a bit. "Not with Ron. Mistakes with Ron are so much worse than normal ones. He'll hate me. It will be just like last winter when he stopped reading my owls."

Her friend sighs and slides his arm around her, pulling her closer until her head leans against his shoulder.

"He'll be alright. I know we haven't talked about your relationship much, but he really was just… sad."

She snorts. "Angry, more like."

"And angry," he concedes, "but he still loves you. He told me he wanted tonight to be a fresh start, to reconnect so you can be friends. I don't think he meant for whatever _that_ was to happen."

They are quiet for awhile, Hermione nursing her headache and sipping water, when Harry adds, "I should have stayed. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone."

Hermione pulls away to eye him. "Did you know he planned to try to-"

"No! No, not at all. I really don't think he knew himself. But you were drinking and reminiscing, and that's just a recipe for bad choices when things have been sort of...broken."

"Merlin, Harry, I'm not a broken doll."

"I didn't say _you_ were broken, though I have to wonder why you assumed as much."

Another long silence follows before Hermione rises and makes a show of stretching her arms over her head, yawning. "I think I should probably sleep," she says, hinting that she would like this night to end.

Harry nods and stands, giving her another quick hug. He begins to leave with a soft, "Good night," but then stops by the door. "'Mione, you're alright? I mean, not just about tonight, but…"

Hermione closes her eyes, all her usual responses fighting to leave her mouth.

" _I'm fine… of course I'm alright… everything is great…"_

But instead she gives Harry a sad smile and picks up Benedick, holding him tight for just a moment. When she looks back at her friend, she gives a little shrug of one shoulder and says with a bit more honesty, "I'm getting better. Good night, Harry."

She holds Benedick close for a long time, sleep protesting in favor of her raging thoughts, slow and quiet tears soaking into her patient familiar's fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading along with me so far and for all the very lovely reviews! Sorry for this chapter haha... 
> 
> I've been there, Hermione. That's a bad night lol


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love once again to my team LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal! And continued thanks to all of you who are reading and for the comments so far!

Well, that was a wretched night.

Draco's small body is stiff from being held in the same position by Granger for so long. He would suppose he could have kicked out of her hold at some point, especially as she finally drifted off to sleep, but if his presence was offering her comfort, he was loathe to remove himself from her.

It's finally morning, and Granger is humming as she flips through today's Prophet, back to acting adjusted and happy. But Draco knows better. Especially after that nightmare that was last night. He could tell the moment she stumbled through the door that she was far from lucid, barely even able to stand. He had watched as she had rocked and tilted, weaving her way across the house and clinging to Weasley for support.

The wizard in question wasn't much better, clinging to her in turn and nearly tripping over his own awkwardly large feet. When he had turned to kiss her, he'd virtually missed the first time, lips smacking oddly against the side of her mouth as he felt his way back to center. Granger had been dazed and barely responsive all the while, their snogging session being more something that was happening to her than something she was participating in.

Not that Weasley had forced himself. Just that Weasley was proactive and Granger was, as the saying goes, out to lunch.

Draco knew she would regret it. He had learned enough in a few short days that told him this was a mistake and could only end very badly. So he had chittered and pawed at her, but she seemed to not even notice. Likely, she literally didn't. Giving up that tactic, he'd done something Draco Malfoy thought he would never resort to: He ran to Harry Potter.

The cluttered disaster of a space that Potter calls his bedroom was thankfully left open, the wizard himself sitting up in bed looking over schematics of Quidditch moves. Draco had leapt onto the bed and barked in Potter's face, then promptly jumped down and made for the door.

"Oi, what the fuck, you little beast?!"

Draco would have smirked if, one, the situation with Granger wasn't so time sensitive and, two, if his face could still form a smirk. Instead, he'd barked again, taking two steps back toward Potter, then turning back for the door, trying to lead the man to follow.

Eventually, the stupid git seemed to put two and two together and come up with three, just enough to ask, "Did you bloody need something?"

So, Draco repeated his actions, becoming more insistent and chittering loudly all the while. By the time he lead The Boy Who Can't Take A Fucking Hint back to the sitting room, Granger had her top unbuttoned and Weasley was grinding against her. Draco had never been more disgusted.

In the short time between Draco's entry and Potter plodding in a few moments later, Granger had seemed to come back to herself and pushed her former lover away.

The rest has been a blur of tears and being held so tight Draco couldn't get a deep breath.

Now, Potter is puttering around his kitchen, flipping something in a pan while Granger sits at the table, as Draco mentioned, humming.

"So, big day tomorrow?"

She looks up and smiles. "I suppose it is."

Once again, he is struck that Potter is buying this farce. Oh, she seems chipper, but Draco can sense the unease and strain in her posture, the faux quality of her smile.

"Did your tailoring arrive?"

"Not yet," she answers, smile faltering. "I wonder if I should pop back to the shop."

"I can go for you if you like," Potter offers.

"Oh, were you going out, then?" Granger's expression is a bit pinched. Had she expected to spend the day with her friend? As far as Draco is concerned, Potter is losing friend points by the day.

"Well, it's only, Ron Floo'd this morning..."

"Let me guess, he wants to know if last night meant he has a chance?"

Potter shrugs and looks sheepish and fucking ridiculous. Draco scarfs down a blueberry to stop himself from biting the wanker.

"And what did you tell him?" She continues her line of question, ice forming in her voice.

"I said I thought maybe we should talk in person. Maybe over a pint. Hair of the dog and all that."

"Yes, I'm sure he's feeling quite wretched," she comments. "I know I am."

"Hermione... there isn't a chance, right?" Potter sounds hesitant, and Draco can't believe the prick even has to ask. Of course there's not a chance. She's not _that_ desperate.

She considers a bit longer than Draco likes, but he realizes she's only being careful with her words. "There really isn't. Harry, I love him, I really do."

Potter nods. "I know."

"...but he's not right for me. We aren't right for each other. We were so frustrated with each other by the end, and we'd only been dating a matter of months. I can't see myself marrying someone that has no ambition. Can't imagine having children with someone I feel like I'm already mothering. We just... we don't work."

He sighs at her in response, and Draco thinks he's a cock for even sounding disappointed at her choices. "I figured as much. I just wanted to be sure before I tell him."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

Oh, that fucking does it. Draco abandons his snack and shoves his nose under Granger's hand, forcing her to let him nuzzle her palm. He can't believe she's fucking apologizing. Or that Potter is fucking letting her. He half turns to Potter and huffs through his tiny nose, trying very much for a scoff.

He doesn't know if maybe Potter got the cue. Probably Draco had nothing to do with it, but he'd like to think he's having some positive effects in Granger's life before he hurts her. Regardless of the reason, Potter denies her apology. "You don't need to be sorry, Hermione. It's your choice. I don't even disagree with you. I just hate seeing either of you unhappy, and I know he's going to be."

They both go quiet for a moment until Hermione breaks the silence, sounding decisive. "You know, I think I will go to Twilfit. I appreciate the offer, but sitting around here alone today doesn't sound all that appealing."

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean to leave you alone-"

"No, it's fine," she argues, waving off his comment. "Ron needs you more today. I'm not the one heartbroken over the whole thing."

Draco would like to comment that she seems to be generally nursing a broken heart over other things, but of course he doesn't get a vote.

Granger rises from the table and pats Draco on the head then runs her hand down his back. "I'll leave Benedick out if that's alright. He doesn't seem to bother anything."

"Sure. I hardly even know he's here. I'll make sure the doors are locked up when I go. Still not sure how he got out..."

Draco watches her leave the room and is about to follow, if nothing else but to be away from Potter and his oddly domestic baking, when the wizard nudges him and places a small dish under his nose.

"Don't tell Hermione, right? She'll get the idea to do this everyday, but how about some tuna?"

Draco doesn't have to ponder on that offer for long, indulging in a bit of the red meat and allowing Potter to run his hand down his back. Fucking humiliating... but it's excellent fish.

"You did well last night. I'm glad she has you."

Fuck, if that doesn't stick with Draco for some time.

Draco considers following Granger to Diagon once again, but hesitates, wondering if it might start to seem suspect if everytime she leaves Grimmauld, he's there. Ultimately, the decision is made for him. By the time Potter leaves and Draco changes his mind a few times, she is already back, a parcel under her arm. He trails after her to her bedroom but finds a nice interesting bird on a branch outside the window when she begins to change, only catching the barest hint of her smooth waist when she begins to lift her top.

Merlin, this is going to be the death of him. He feels like such a cad, even thinking about her state of undress, but the curiosity is killing him. What little he has seen has been so very enticing. She's lucky he was raised a gentleman.

"Well, what do you think, Benedick?"

He turns at the cue of his familiar's identity to find her modeling the ensemble he had chosen for her, doing little half spins in front of a full length mirror to see her various angles. She looks stunning, is what he thinks, even better than she had at Twilfits when she was nervous and stiff. No wonder Weasley is still panting around. Draco thinks he would be too if he'd ever had a taste of her.

Draco chitters a little, hoping it sounds like approval.

"A bit formal for a first day at a desk job, I suppose, but at least I won't be accused of not taking the position seriously." She looks at herself one last time, seeming to memorize it all, then starts to remove the garment. "Wouldn't do to wrinkle it before I've even worn it," she mutters, pulling the side zip.

Draco turns again, finding the bird gone but a boring looking beetle on the window sill beyond the glass. Biscuit beetle? Woodworm? Potter should mind his food stores-

"You're a sweet thing, aren't you?"

Draco feels himself lifted off the sill and cuddled to Granger's chest. More specifically, the skin of Granger's chest, soft lace cut low but doing nothing to hide the swell of her breasts, the defined ridge of her collarbone.

"I'd almost swear you were giving me privacy, you darling little beast." She smiles down at him, and Draco looks back, holding her gaze with his beady eyes. How much can a man take? No wizard can possibly be expected to weather this much temptation. Merlin gouge his eyes, this is fucking unfair.

Blessedly, she puts him back on the sill after a moment of gentle squeezing and retreats back to her pile of clothes. Draco finds the beetle like it is his salvation and studies it obsessively while his little ears pick up on the sounds of fabric being run over skin, praying to Circe for strength.

When everything goes quiet, he peeks behind him to find Granger relaxed on her bed, propped up against a mound of pillows and marketing something on a parchment.

Draco hops down and creeps over, approaching quietly as not to distract her. She seems quite focused on the task, whatever it is.

Once close enough, he peers over the edge of the paper to find what appears to be a weekly planner. Monday, tomorrow, is simply 'First Day' written in the eight in the morning slot. At five, it says 'End of first day.' On Tuesday, 'lunch with Harry' is jotted down at noon and the same the following day. Friday shows 'lunch with Luna apparently…' the trailing ellipses highlighting that she seems to have thought better of it. He finds that rather amusing, but his vocal chords don't chuckle. He watches her finishing noting 'meeting with Kingsley' on Wednesday at three then set the parchment aside and lean back, eyes closed.

What strikes him about the whole thing is that she has no lunch plans on her very first day. The day she is likely to be the most nervous. Where the fuck is Potter lending support?

He finds out at dinner that Potter is doing field work on Mondays.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione. I hate that you won't have anyone the first day. Cantina politics at the ministry are awful. Like a Muggle school film. My first day, everyone was making places for me at their table, glaring when I sat next to Robards."

"Great. Another place where I can feel ostracized on my first day. Perhaps someone could unleash a troll so I can make a friend." Draco watches her roll her eyes and grin, Potter laughing a bit in response. Is that how they became friends? That fucking troll from first year? How different could things have been if Hogwarts had better protection procedures? Could Potter have survived the war without her? Would they all live in a dystopian nightmare?

Ripple of a butterfly wing, and all that.

So Draco makes a decision. Another in a list of stupid decisions, in fact. Martens can't chuckle or sigh or sneer or make any other expression that Draco considers his fall back, but if he could make one of his usual sounds, right now he would groan.

The rest of Granger's night is uneventful, and she turns in early at a very responsible nine o'clock. She reads for twenty minutes, then turns out the light, kissing Draco atop his furry head before she nestles down. He waits until after ten before he sneaks through the window, leaving it cracked just enough to fit back through, and Apparates to the owl post in Diagon.

The post only accepts messages until eleven. As such, it is quiet, the lone employee sweeping out an owl cage. Draco approaches the older wizard, clearing his throat.

"M-mister Malfoy!"

Draco thinks the man looks a bit nervous and it makes him frown. He doesn't even know this wizard."I need to send an owl."

"R-right. Of course. Right over here." The wizard is frail and shuffles his feet in a way that says it is the best pace he can reach.

"Do you require parchment, sir?"

Draco nods and accepts the parchment and quill, taking care to write an eloquent message before rolling it and tying it closed with a navy ribbon, thinking fondly of the dress she will wear tomorrow, still quite liking that she would take his advice.

"Please send this first thing in the morning to Miss Hermione Granger."

"Not tonight, sir? I assure you, the owls can make one last flight. It would be no bother…"

Fuck, the man is wringing his hands. He's terrified. Draco almost… almost...snatches the scroll back in favor of abandoning England this very moment, hoping to catch the first portkey to the Pacific Isles.

But he remembers Granger, curled up on her side, probably muttering in her sleep as she often does. He thinks of her face the day he ran away, devastated and hopeless. This is the least he can do. He owes her much more.

"No, thank you," he says as polite as he can. "Miss Granger keeps early hours, and I'd not see her awoken. Please send it at seven." He lays down the small payment for the post with an extra few knuts as a tip to the owl master.

The old man's eyes go wide, then he nods. "Yes, sir. Seven on the dot, it will be. I'll send Bessie. She's my fastest."

A few coins, that's all it takes. No wonder Lucius was able to raise the Malfoy family from the muck after Riddle's fall two decades ago. It will be harder now with less gold in their coffers, but Draco has enough to grease just a few palms before he vanishes. A few spare coins to soothe the unease of those he comes across.

Excusing himself, Draco makes his way back to an Apparition point and imagines himself in the same secluded place near Potter's house that is becoming rather familiar. A quick transformation and back up the tree, hitting that branch just so, avoiding that one for its weakness.

He's getting good at his, he thinks. Put that on his resume. Draco Malfoy: An excellent sneaky pine marten.

In the room, Granger is still asleep, tucked in on her side, one foot sticking out from beneath her bed covers and hanging off the mattress. Her hair spreads all around her, taking up so much room he can't imagine how she could ever lie next to anyone. That line of thinking gives him pause, trying to believe he has no idea where it came from but also knowing it's not the first his mind drifted to her in a more personal setting. He redirects his thoughts to her ridiculous matching pajamas covered in tiny kneazles batting at Golden Snitches.

Careful not to wake her, he slips onto the bed and curls up just behind her shoulder, sighing a contented little sigh. He's doing a good thing, he tells himself. This whole thing might have been… miscalculated… but he can still salvage something from it. He doesn't have to be the villain in this story.

* * *

Hermione stretches when she wakes, arching her back and curling her hands into fists then splaying her fingers wide. Beside her, Benedick also stirs. She reaches and gives him a little scratch on his belly. He seems to enjoy it very much, but then remember himself, almost as if he's embarrassed, and then he stands up straight and tall. Such a funny little thing, her familiar. So many very human personality quirks.

"Good morning, my little love. Big day today. Wish your mummy luck at the ministry."

Sitting up, she allows herself one more indulgent stretch before reaching for her alarm and shutting it off. She always sets it, just in case, but nearly always wakes before it sounds.

Only six in the morning, she has plenty of time to groom and dress leisurely. A warm shower to start her day, she gathers her robe and unmentionables and starts her daily routine. Routine is an excellent way not to let the stress of a new environment wear on your nerves. She hardly even thinks of the Ministry as she cleans her body, her teeth, and struggles a bit with her unruly curls.

It's an hour before she is satisfied and heads back into her room only to find an owl tapping at her window. Benedick is sitting on the sill, watching it.

"Be nice, sweetheart. The owl won't hurt you."

Benedick gives her a look she would describe as haughty, as if she'd talked down to him. Supposing he is an orphaned familiar, perhaps it was condescending to imagine he didn't know owl etiquette.

Hermione lifts the window pane and allows the owl to hop in from a branch that sits just outside the window and into her room. It presents its leg for her to extract the message and hoots softly. She looks around, finding that she is, to her embarrassment, out of owl treats. She shuffles around in her beaded bag,finds a sickle instead, and drops it into a Muggle envelope along with a short note, licking it closed. "You take this back to your postmaster and he will give you a lovely treat for your trouble."

It hoots at her but doesn't seem irritated. So strange, how much magical creatures understand. It's a bit like being a fairytale princess with her animal friends. Hermione giggles.

Once the owl has hopped out, she closes the window and unties the ribbon on the scroll. Within, Hermione finds the most elegant script she's ever seen. Her parents would be envious. Their doctors' scrawls had always been something they wished to improve yet never got around to. She would suppose there are a great many things they will never get around to now that they've probably forgotten who they were...

She shakes her head...Enough of that... and reads.

_Granger,_

_If memory serves, your first day of an illustrious new career looms before you today. I find I have some business to attend to in Muggle London, not far from the Ministry. Might I meet you for a quick lunch? I'll be at The Old Shades at half twelve should you wish to join me._

_Regards,_

_DM_

Well... that certainly isn't anything she had expected. Hermione stares, a bit wide eyed, at the parchment before laying it gently on the bed. Benedick pops over and seems to glance at it, then to her in question.

"A lunch invitation. From someone who, until recently, seemed to despise me. What do you think? Should I accept?"

Benedick chitters in no discernable way, but Hermione pretends to take it as confirmation. "I mean, I do have to eat. And he was quite amicable the last two times we met. And it would be terribly rude to just leave him stood up... even though it would be his own fault for not requesting a return owl," she adds, ever mindful of all sides of any debate.

She continues talking to herself as she finishes her preparations for the day. "Of course, it is my first day. Who knows if I'll even have an opportunity to eat. And at what time. If I'm late, he certainly should not be able to chastise me for it. I've not even had a say in the arrangements! How dare he just assume I'm available at exactly the time that suits him. But, in the interest of fairness, he doesn't seem to assume I'll be there. It's only an invitation, not expectation..."

She prattles on like that, touching up her lipstick and tossing a few odds and ends into her beaded bag. All the while, Benedick is so silent, she nearly forgets he's there.

"Well, I guess you've talked me into it. I may as well turn up. Let him try to work his charm or whatever his game is. Probably wants something. I doubt that wizard ever does anything without expecting something in return. At least I can be assured it's not access to my knickers he's looking for." She snorts to herself at the very notion.

With one last look at her marten, who is eyeing her intently, she gives a wave and flounces to the door. "I'll leave some salmon and berries under stasis in the kitchen. Be seeing you after five, love."

She reaches the bottom floor and thinks she hears footsteps from over head, near where her room would be, but Harry has already left and there's no one else here. She dismisses it and opens the front door to a sunny day, finding that she is almost looking forward to lunch, odd as that may be.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and love to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal, my wonderful team

Draco walks with confidence into a rather cozy Muggle establishment. He doesn't know a lot about non-magical London, but there had been one day, feeling rather rebellious, that he and Pansy had snuck away to partake in Muggle fare. It was the summer before their fifth year, before Draco was given his task. Before he had the Mark and what felt like an expiration date on his young life.

It had been exhilarating and terrifying, maneuvering between the Muggle motor vehicles and trying to fit in. Pansy, transfiguring her robes expertly, had worn what she thought was traditional Muggle clothing based on a contraband fashion magazine, but it seemed her haute couture ensemble was quite out of place in the Muggle shops and restaurants they explored.

He feels more at ease this time. Older and wiser and having spent quite a few days living with Granger's influence, Draco thinks perhaps his view of muggles had given them a bit too much credit at being different in the past. No magic, of course, so their lives seem dreadfully tedious and inconvenient, but otherwise he thinks he can fit in just fine.

Finding himself at a small café table with two chairs, he sits with his back to the wall and eyes on the door, trying to seem casual. It wouldn't do for Granger to think he was waiting anxiously, regardless of the truth in it. Draco is very much looking forward to interacting with her while he has opposable thumbs and full command of the Queen's English. So many times in recent days, he had thought of a quip, comment, or argument in response to something she or Potter had said. He's started to suspect he might find her quite engaging if given the chance. Today is his day to take chances.

His confidence starts to wane, however, when thirty minutes pass with no Granger. He had ordered a Flat Iron steak and is eating it slowly, savoring the cooked meat.

Draco likes salmon, but he's growing a bit tired of his usual menu at Chateau Potter. The tuna that the wizard snuck him had been a Godsend.

At nearly one, Draco has finished his steak and is nursing a glass of Cabernet. He's disappointed, to say the least. He had been certain she would accept. Just as he has risen from his seat, laying his napkin beside his plate, a cloud of hair scrambles through the door, eyes searching and finally landing on Draco.

She approaches and huffs. "I hate being late," she grumbles at him. He supposes it's meant as an apology of sorts and can't help but grin at the petulant look on her face.

"You can't be late when we had no arrangement, Granger. But," he adds quickly, 'I'm glad you were able to fit me into your schedule." He offers a smile, as innocent and warm as he can manage, but it seems to make her tense.

She asks, stiffly, "Should we sit?"

Her demeanor has changed, making Draco wary, but he agrees and gestures for her to take the empty chair opposite the table. He pulls his own seat out as well and sits just after she does.

"So, what is this about?" she inquires, all business.

"Traditionally called 'lunch', it's a midday meal, often partaken with friends or colleagues-"

"No, Malfoy," she interrupts, and he grins at his own joke. "I mean, why have you invited me?"

"Oh, well that just seemed like a good idea. We were both close by, and I prefer to enjoy my meals with a companion."

" _Malfoy_." She says his name with emphasis, pausing for effect. He would swear she is gritting her teeth. "I appreciate the invitation, but I have a lot on my plate today. What is it you need?"

He frowns at that but doesn't have to ask for clarification. She continues, unprompted. "I thought about it all morning, and I can't imagine any reason you would have invited me if you don't need something. So, what is it? You need strings pulled at the Ministry? Information about something Muggle? It was kind of you to help me in Diagon, but if you are expecting a favour in turn, I really don't know what I can offer you."

Draco is struck silent for a long breath before he collects himself. She had muttered this morning about his motivations, but seems much more agitated now. "I don't need anything, Granger," he tries with as much charm as he can muster. His vision of their lunch date was much different than this. "I just thought we could share a meal."

The more he thinks, the more he tries to talk, the more irritated he becomes.

Gesturing at his empty plate, he says, "But as you can see, we've missed that opportunity. Please don't feel obligated to stay, as I'm just about to leave myself."

He almost rises right then, but damned if he doesn't want to hear her response. So, instead, he levels her with a look and waits.

"You really don't want anything?"

"Maybe some sticky toffee pudding," he quips, "but I really didn't need to invite you for that."

He sees her fight a smile, and thinks maybe he did something right. Leaning back in his chair, Draco cools his ire, remembering she has every right to distrust him. Just because he's been getting to know her, seeing her vulnerable and offering her comfort, she knows nothing of him beyond the boy he used to be or the quiet, withdrawn man he had become.

So he offers an olive branch, as it were. "If you would like to join me in that endeavor, perhaps? You came all this way."

She lets the grin she's been fighting come out and play, and it's a lovely sight. "I did… and I am a bit hungry."

"Excellent." Draco waves for his server and requests, on Hermione's insistence, one order with two spoons. Granger asks for a salad for herself, wrapped to take back to the Ministry.

"I really can't stay long," she explains, "but I was too curious not to come."

Curious because she didn't trust him not to be scheming or using her, but he lets it slide and offers her a smile. "I'm glad I piqued your interest then. I've been thinking, since I last saw you, perhaps it would be nice to know you a bit better. Without everything in the way." He doesn't say what 'everything' is. By her grave nod of understanding, he didn't need to.

He watches her take a deep breath and then level him with an even but polite expression. "Well, then, what shall we talk about?"

Draco considers a moment. How to best get to know her as a witch, as a woman? Starting with something safe, he asks, "How do you like your position at the Ministry?"

Her face relaxes, and she smiles, breathing out, sincere and relieved. "I really like it."

Settling his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, a posture Narcissa Malfoy would decidedly not like, he gives her his full attention and gestures for her to continue. What follows is one of the nicest conversations Draco can remember.

* * *

Hermione hadn't meant to stay long. Her first day at a new job, a new career, and her intention was a quick bite then back to work. Malfoy's invitation had threatened that plan, but still, she had accepted, secure in the knowledge she intended only to hear whatever plea or proposal he offered, then decline, and depart.

Instead, she is grinning at him, listening to his tale of 'that one time my mother allowed me to fly in the house' and the bedlam that ensued. His broom decided to veer out of the grand ballroom and he ended up screeching down a corridor, narrowly missing elves and furniture. He's just reached the part where Lucius Malfoy peers out of his study only to be nearly clipped by little Draco's right boot.

"Oh, Merlin, I can only imagine the trouble you were in," she half groans, half laughs at him.

Malfoy chuckles but argues. "Funny enough, it was my mother I had to worry about. Lucius just ducked back inside, grumbling, but Mother was livid when I crashed into my great-grandfather's portrait."

"You crashed into a portrait?! You could have been killed! Wizards and their brooms," she grumbles, idly tracing her spoon through the smear of caramel sauce remaining on the plate between them.

"Served me right, honestly. Mother told me to close the ballroom door." The grin he gives her is cheeky, and Hermione is pretty sure he had better control of that broom than he's letting on.

She can't help but grin in turn, ready to snip back about karma or justice, when she catches sight of the time shown on her wrist. "Oh, holy hell, Malfoy, I'm going to be late!"

He looks surprised, and she clarifies, "I've been gone fifty-eight minutes already. I hate to go. I'm so sorry to rush." She pulls her beaded back from off her chair while standing and simultaneously trying to dig through it. "Here, let me leave for my half-"

"Not necessary," he cuts her off, standing as well. "It's my treat."

Ceasing her digging about, looking for loose coins, she straightens. "Absolutely not! I can pay for my own, Malfoy, it's only fair-"

"I invited," he goes on, unruffled and giving her an amused look, "so, my treat. Really, it's standard etiquette, Granger."

"No, I couldn't possibly-"

"Next time, you can get the pudding, alright?"

Hermione's blood cools and she freezes in place. Next time? She doesn't even answer, but she sees his face fall.

"I apologize. That was very forward. I had meant to ask if perhaps we could do this again? Maybe when you have more time? I've very much enjoyed our conversation today."

When she still can't find any words, he seems to grow more nervous, talking too much and tripping over himself. "That is, if you had the time, of course. I know you're quite busy with the new position. And I'm sure you have other things… people to fill your time. Potter and Weasley," he suggests, and she notes the grimace when he says the latter. "And I know we've never been friendly, but just a tea sometime? We can decide later, I should let you-"

"Dinner?"

Now it's his turn to freeze mid sentence.

"There's a new place I wanted to try. Not far from where I live. Harry isn't really interested, but the menu looks excellent. Dinner, Friday?"

She watches him school his surprise as he graciously accepts. "That would be lovely."

"Great." Hermione pauses and then waggles her finger at him, lightly scolding. "And I pay, remember? None of your old-fashioned pureblood misogyny. I'm inviting; my treat." She gives him a smug smile but is surprised to see him grimace.

"You really don't have to do that. You don't owe me anything. If anyone is in debt, it's me."

It's a vulnerability she isn't used to seeing on his face, and she is horrified at just how endearing she finds it. She really is hopeless for a lost cause, isn't she?

"Not a debt, Malfoy. We're beyond that, alright? Clean slate. And as my new acquaintance, you may as well get used to the notion that I don't like being taken care of, at least not all the time." She looks down at her wrist again and, embarrassingly, squeaks at the result. "I really have to go," she emphasizes. "Friday at seven? I'll owl you the address!"

And with that, she is turning and shuffling for the door, vaguely realizing he had said her name and reached for her.

But she is now officially late, and, if she hustles, she can keep it under five minutes. She will have to do better tomorrow when she has lunch with Harry. He can meet her in the cafeteria for that matter.

Merlin, she hates to be late.

* * *

An owl. She'll send an owl.

Well, fucking fuck, that's inconvenient since he's LIVING IN HER BLOODY BEDROOM.

Draco had tried to call for her, but Granger was like a woman possessed, racing from the restaurant, curls flying behind her in a frenzy.

Just fucking great.

Trying to clear his head, he has decided to stroll for a while rather than Apparate directly back to Grimmauld. He finds himself wandering toward Diagon and is happy for the convenience when he is struck with an idea. Apparating with purpose, Draco transfigures his Muggle wear into a more traditional set of robes with a hood he can lift and makes his way to the owl post. Working the day shift is the same gentleman he met before.

Draco waits, hanging back near the selection of parchments and wax seals for client use until the only witch in attendance has left, the shop now only consisting of himself, the postman, and a lot of sleepy owls.

He has barely lowered the hood when the wizard recognizes him.

"M-Mister Malfoy. How lovely to see you again. I do hope your last missive was delivered timely?" He looks impossibly nervous, and Draco gleans that the man expects to hear complaint, maybe even threats. Fuck, Lucius really did a number on public opinion. It's hard to feel too bad for him, stuck for life in the Manor. It's better than he probably deserves.

"It was perfect. Arrived exactly when I'd hoped, and the meeting was able to be scheduled. Thank you."

The wizard relaxes, so Draco goes on. "What I need is to ask all of my owls to be held here at the post. If anyone sends something to me, please have the message held, and I will be along to collect it." He lays a couple of sickles on the counter. "I understand it to be an inconvenience, of course, and hope it isn't too much to ask." Draco offers what he hopes is a reassuring and agreeable smile.

The wizard hardly hesitates before accepting the bribe, scooping up the coins with a smile of his own. "It's no trouble at all, of course. Happy to help. Anytime you need anything, you just ask for Harold, alright?"

Great, another fucking "Harry" in his life.

Draco nods, feeling incredibly light, and makes his way home. He will just have to check the post the next few days but sees no issue since Granger will spend hours daily at the Ministry.

He Apparates to his usual spot and takes on his alternate form, scrambling up the tree and slipping into the room, happy to be home.

* * *

Hermione has a little trouble focusing for the remainder of her first day at the office. Not that anyone could tell. Spending years at Hogwarts, always ahead of the curve while simultaneously being distracted by deadly chess games, murderous professors, and endless Dark Arts research, she had to learn to multitask pretty effectively.

Nonetheless, at five, she is ready to shut of her professional brain and examine the odd nature of her personal life. She has a date. Hermione Granger has a date... with Draco Malfoy. How much insanity is that? Musing to herself, she makes her way to Grimmauld, slightly baffled by the turn of events.

Hermione had considered stopping by the post on the way, send the owl while it is fresh in her mind, but one of her new coworkers (Susan Personality-of-a-wet-papertowel Parker) had accompanied her on half of the trek, and she would have needed to double back to the post from the Apparition point. Justifying that she has a few days to spare, she had decided to send it tomorrow.

Grimmauld is finally starting to feel like home, and she sighs as she closes the door by leaning against it, toeing off her pumps as she does. Her feet hurt, her eyes are dry, and Hermione is quite pleased to be back in familiar surroundings.

"You're home!" Hermione looks up to find Harry approaching. "How was your first day, future Minister?" he asks.

She scoffs a little, though it's not as if that plan isn't part of her long game. "It went well," she says with a tired smile. "I think I'll really like it there." She takes in his casual attire and asks, "Did you work today?"

Harry nods and steps forward to help her as she shrugs off her jacket. When did he become so polite? "I was in the field, but it was quiet. Home around half four."

Leading her into the kitchen, Hermione is struck by the decadent smell of curry. "Bless you, Harry Potter; You picked up dinner."

"I did," he agrees with a grin and hands her a plate. "Pile it high and tell me all about Muggle relations."

Dinner is lovely. At some point, Benedick wanders in, nose twitching, and she offers him a bit of naan. He takes it hesitantly but eats it nonetheless.

Dragging a piece of the bread through his remnants of Tikka Masala, Harry perks up having remembered something. "Guess what I'm doing tomorrow."

She hums in reply to show her interest, mouth full.

His excitement seems to be warring with a more similar emotion, and he shifts in his seat. "I mean, it felt like it was time. It's been years since…" He takes a breath and continues. "I'm getting a new owl."

Hermione swallows her food and tries to smile. "I think that's great, Harry. It's… I think that sounds great."

It's a quiet and awkward silence, Hermione not sure what to say. She knows Harry adored Hedwig. The bird had been more than a pet or a messenger. Looking at her own familiar, who happens to be eyeing them with keen interest, she thinks how awful it would be if she lost him.

It occurs to her then, she might have use for the new familiar, and it seems like a nice way to break the tension and bring back Harry's initial excitement. "It's funny, I was going to the post tomorrow… Maybe I could borrow your owl? Give her an inaugural journey?" She tries for a smile, and it is reciprocated quickly.

"You're welcome to her anytime. Work owl?" he asks, mildly curious.

Hermione sort of wishes she hadn't brought it up.

"Oh, erm, no. It was just a personal note…"

All he does is raise an eyebrow, and she can see his suspicious nature hurtling forward to the front of his brain. With a sigh, she relents and answers, even though he asked no questions. "I ran into Malfoy again…"

"Again? And you're sure he's not following you? This is starting to get strange, Hermione."

"No, well… I mean, not exactly ran into. More, had lunch with him… that he invited me to."

Harry's brows lift so far on his head, she thinks they might stick to the ceiling. "You had a lunch date with Malfoy? How in Merlin's name does that even happen?"

She shrugs and picks up her fork. "He sent me an owl. Said he was going to be near the Ministry for business and wondered if I might like to grab lunch." Looking at his continued expression of distrust, she adds, "It was just a casual meeting. I barely even made it on time."

"And, yet, you have continued business and need to send him an owl?"

Hermione groans, throwing her head back in frustration. "Harry Potter, you are the most doubtful, suspicious, skeptical-"

"That's what makes me a good Auror, so says Robards," he interrupts, cheeky as you like, and Hermione giggles.

She straightens her spine into a prim posture, offering Benedick another bite. The marten doesn't seem interested, just lets it fall between his paws as he continues to watch her and Harry. With confidence, she levels her friend with a look and admits, "I invited him to dinner."

He probably has a lot of responses, a lot of questions, but, finally, Harry just settles on, "Why?"

Hermione thinks on that for a moment. Why had she? And what would she admit to Harry? Then, she chastises herself for even considering withholding from her best friend. He has been nothing but perfect to her since she arrived. Truth is always best, even if he doesn't like it. "I had a really nice time talking to him," she lands on. "And he paid for lunch and made some casual remark that I could get the next time… So, I guess I just took him up on that. I don't even know how to explain it, but he's so different. Sometimes, I forget he's anyone I've ever known before. It's like meeting someone for the first time… and I sort of like him."

She blushes. She knows she does. How mortifying. Harry looks properly horrified.

"Merlin's hat, you have a crush on Malfoy?"

Does she? Hermione thinks back on her interactions and realizes, a little horrified herself, that she does.

"It's nothing," she says quickly. "I'm sure it's just… a little infatuation with the about face he seems to have done. And," she says a bit stern, "let's all be honest enough that it won't matter. I'm sure Draco Malfoy has a future full of pureblood heiresses. I'm just going to enjoy some conversations… get out of the house a bit. When his guilt is assuaged or his curiosity abated… whatever his motivations are… I'll have maybe made an acquaintance for my trouble."

Harry frowns at her, and she absentmindedly reaches to Benedick to stroke down his back, not liking being under Harry's assessing gaze.

"Sounds like a way to get hurt, Hermione."

She laughs, trying to lighten the heavy mood. "I'm not trying to marry him. Look, he's handsome, yes. And I like talking to him. Now that he's not being cruel to all of us or playing desperately immature pranks," she adds, thinking of enchanted badges and dementor costumes. "I'll just have dinner, see if I can root out what he's looking to accomplish, and then move on without all the baggage of a grudge."

Taking a bite off her fork, then dabbing her mouth daintily with her napkin, she adds sagely, "Grudges are no good for us. Terrible amount of stress to live with."

Still eyeing her warily, Harry concedes, "I suppose," and picks up his own fork. "Just be careful with him, alright? I know all the excuses, the threats he lived under and all that, but no one threatened him to call you a Mudblood when he was twelve. Prejudice like that… I'm just saying, there's likely a part of him that still doesn't see how exceptional you are."

He reaches a hand across the table and squeezes hers with so much affection, her eyes tear up. "You're probably the most exceptional person I know. If you see something in him of value, that's great, 'Mione. Just don't get so caught up you believe him when he doesn't give you the same consideration."

"Harry…"

Her friend sits back and picks up a piece of naan, tearing a large bite off with his teeth and chewing loudly. She sniffles back a threatening tear and puts one last small serving onto her plate. "How can you have so much wisdom and such poor table manners?" she chastises with nothing but love.

He laughs and her tears dry up and the curry disappears from their plates. All the while, Benedick is right there, allowing himself to be stroked and scratched between bites, loyal and darling familiar that he is.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to my dear friends Lightofevolution, still beta-ing away on this story, In Dreams, still pulling for me as I work out the epilogue, and MCal, whose excitement never wavers. Thank you to these exceptional three and to all of you reading.

Draco's mind is racing as Hermione casually flits about her bedroom, readying herself for sleep.

At the moment during dinner that Potter had accused her of having a crush, his thoughts halted in place and then hurtled into a new direction.

A crush?

After her distrust over lunch? After all the years and strife between them? The fact that she could see him that way is a little stunning. Of course, Draco is more than aware that he is a handsome wizard, but she had spoken as if her interest went beyond the physical.

Lost in fantasy thoughts of future, Draco had started to imagine their date Friday, perhaps ending with a kiss. She would be passionate and daring, Gryffindor to the core. Draco sees himself cupping her jaw and winding his arm around her to pull her close, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. How much would she want from him? Would she press herself against him? Would she whisper what she wanted into his ear, pleas and commands, as he trailed soft kisses down her neck? They would share a moment of deep understanding, and she would bite lightly on his bottom lip before confessing, "I want to take you home."

Then, Draco's mind spiraled into the reality he now finds himself. He is her fucking _pet_ , as far as she knows. ' _Yes, Granger, let's go back to yours. I'm very fond of your bed as it is and, as it happens, it's also where I live! How convenient!'_

And the owl! The Gods-damned fucking owl. Excellent. Thanks so much, Potter. Draco's careful plan with the post destroyed because Harry fucking Potter decided now is the time for him to heal and move on. He couldn't get a dog? Circe, when is the man going to stop living simply to fuck with Draco's day?

So now, after all of that whiplash of thought, Draco is stuck once again in Hermione Granger's bedroom, trying hard not to watch her as she sits there in nothing but a flimsy top and loose pants, her wet curls leaving patches of sheer cotton at the tops of her breasts. She's going to hate him. Forget his fun little daydream of something happening between them. Hermione Granger is going to end the Malfoy line by neutering her marten in his sleep as soon as she finds out.

How long did he think he could keep this up? As soon as that owl comes back his way, he's sunk.

When Granger climbs into bed, Draco curls up on the pillow beside her and pretends to sleep, but his mind circles possibilities for hours. He will just have to escape. There's nothing else to be done. He can leave now before she's too attached.

Then, of course, he thinks of her face when he met her as Draco that first day he left. Her delicate features scrunched in worry, eyes shiny with unshed tears. How can he possibly live with knowing what he's done to her when she is just now starting to come out of her melancholy? And how could he still see her Friday? He knows he doesn't deserve the chance she's giving him and certainly can't imagine hurting her further.

Maybe he can find her another marten? Leave it in her bed before he disappears. Of course, she will know the difference, but she could grow attached to another, right?

By morning, Draco has no more idea what to do then he had the night before, and he is exhausted from lack of sleep. He pretends to keep sleeping until Granger has left for the day, then promptly transforms, sighing with relief at being on two legs.

Draco catches sight of himself in the mirror and sees how haggard he appears. It's almost like being transported back to sixth year and the constant fear that plagued him. No, his life isn't in danger, but he is on the cusp of doing something terrible that he very much does not want to do.

The day Hermione Granger picked him up near the Black Lake, everything was about to change, and he wishes he could divine how things will turn out.

* * *

In the end, Draco does nearly nothing that day. He naps eventually, body giving out. He also takes great pleasure in finishing off the hummus Potter is so fond of and vanishing the container so the tosser can't blame Granger for it.

The one thing he does accomplish is to write a note in acceptance of what he anticipates will be Granger's message, hoping it is vague enough that it will properly answer the owl she will send. How he will receive the owl message, he isn't sure, but he wasn't sorted into Slytherin for his looks. There is always a way to get what you want, and right now, Draco wants to have dinner with Granger without breaking her heart as her familiar.

When she returns home that evening, his determination has somewhat abated his panic, and Draco allows himself to be cuddled and cooed at without reservation.

"Did you miss me today, darling?" She scratches one finger under his chin and guesses, "Probably hardly even noticed, napping the day away, you lazy thing." She brings him in to nuzzle his fur with her nose and kisses the top of his head. The guilt threatens to rise once again when Draco realizes how much he enjoys her attentions.

A door opens from the left, and Potter comes through with a large cage, draped in white cloth.

"Oh, Harry, you found one! Let's see, then!"

Draco finds himself placed on the arm of the sofa as his witch makes his way toward her friend and his owl. Nerves bubble to the surface, but he starts to plan his escape, jumping down to the floor as he watches the exchange.

Potter pulls off the cloth with a flourish to reveal a large barn owl with an eerie white face. "Meet Ogden."

Granger gives him a look, head tilted. "Like the firewhisky?"

With a shrug, Harry opens the cage door and gestures for the bird to leave. "The shop named him. By her breath, I think the lady at the till is probably pretty familiar…"

Draco sees Granger reach out to stroke one delicate finger down the feathers of the owl's back. "He's beautiful. Such a unique face. Quite large for a barn owl."

"He's an Australian masked," Potter clarifies. "They're a bit larger. Or so they told me," he adds with a shrug. Potter watches her petting the bird for a moment before asking, "Did you have that message you wanted to send? You know, for your date with Malfoy," he stresses, teasing in his voice.

Draco would like to tell him to go fuck himself, thanks.

"Oh! Yes, right here!" From her bag on the sofa, she removes a small scroll of parchment and ties it to the left leg. "Can you please take this to Draco Malfoy for me, Ogden? I'll have a nice treat for you once you bring his response."

Fuck. He didn't think they would send it immediately. Merlin, let the bird rest. Everyone in the room is waiting with bated breath. Eventually, the bird spreads his impressive wings and glides in one elegant swoop to where Draco is crouched on the floor, trying to make himself look small.

A lot happens at once. Draco scrambles underneath the spindly legs of the curio in the corner. Potter yells after his owl that the window is, "that way!". Hermione shrieks, hands covering her mouth in horror, then bolts across the room.

Hermione reaches the curio first and thrusts her hands beneath, pulling out Draco and holding him tight to her breast, body turned away from the bird. "I'll take Benedick upstairs while you let him out the window." All the while, she is stroking Draco's back and muttering assurance in his ear, both chastising and apologizing for the owl. "He doesn't know any better, darling, big scary owl. They can't help what they eat, even if it's just awful! I won't ever let him near you, my love. You'll be safe in our room…"

She deposits him on the bed, still petting and cooing, then turns to leave. "I'll be back in a bit, sweetheart. I'm so sorry for that little scare."

The moment she's gone, Draco transforms long enough to open the window, then resumes his marten persona, and slips down the tree branches, trying to get as far from the house as he can before the owl reappears.

He's just made it around the block when he sees Ogden swooping toward him. In the small space between two houses, Draco resumes his wizard form and waits for the owl to land and take a step toward him, holding out his leg indignantly.

"Yes, well, it didn't go quite as _I'd_ planned, either," Draco grumbles at him, taking the missive.

_Draco,_

_Unless you have had a conflict in your schedule, I've made reservations for this Friday at seven at the following address. Remember, this time, it's my treat._

_Hermione_

An address is listed below, not far from where he is now.

Grateful that his vague reply works well, Draco ties it to the owl and gives the bird is a little stroke of one finger down his chest. "Sorry about all that," he tells it. "If they send you anything else for Draco Malfoy, take it to the Diagon post. Now go get your treat."

The owl nips at him in, hopefully, understanding. Draco allows the bird to hop onto his forearm for better leverage, then takes off into the fading light of the evening sky.

Well, he pulled off that much, Draco thinks to himself. Surely he can keep this up for a few more days.

He scrambles back through the window only moments before Hermione re-emerges into the room, a smile on her face.

"Well, Benedick, love, it seems I have another date. Who could have imagined?"

He likes the smile on her face. He likes that he put it there. All the hassle with the owl and the post… worth it.

* * *

Hermione waits almost no time for Ogden to return and idly wonders if Draco is living somewhere close rather than his family home in Wiltshire. She certainly couldn't blame him if he had enough bad memories of the place to seek his own space after the war. The message is very short, but positive.

_Granger,_

_I look forward to seeing you again._

_DM_

She tamps down the bit of girlish excitement, lest Harry give her a hard time. "Well, it looks like we are still on for dinner."

"Speaking of, want to help me throw something together? I'll just take Ogden upstairs to get settled in. I made a bit of an owlery in the attic."

"Love to," she agrees. "I'll let Benedick out, if that's alright. I know he'd hate to miss dinner."

They separate to care for their respective familiars and meet back in the kitchen. Harry arrives first, and Hermione finds him leaned into the refrigerator, digging through the odd jars and containers within. "I was sure I had some hummus…"

"You probably ate it all. It's like you drink the stuff," Hermione teases him, happier than she's been in months. Harry and the Ministry and Benedick and Draco Malfoy… Such an odd collection of people and things to make her happy. Yet, here we are.

She reaches over Harry's head to a platter of chicken pieces. "Let's bake this and maybe make a little hash?"

"Sounds perfect," Harry agrees but continues digging around for his precious hummus. She snickers at him and sets to work, tossing a blueberry down to her marten as she begins.

* * *

Three days of little to no incident are a welcome change for Draco. Evenings are a treat in and of themselves, curled up with Granger while she reads or scribbles on parchment or watches that Muggle moving picture box with Potter.

On Friday afternoon, he sends an owl to his mother, telling her he is still travelling, but all owl post is being held and forwarded if she would like to correspond. What started as a way to keep Granger from sniffing out his scheme has the welcome side effect of allowing his mother some peace of mind.

He writes that he is happily living his own life and hopes she and father are well and will not worry after him. He will check back next week for a reply.

As always, he makes sure to be home and transformed well before five, and actually does fall asleep, only to be woken by a delicate hand on his fur that travels to his belly, rubbing gently until he is awake.

"Hello, you." Granger runs the tip of her nose between his ears. "Had a big day, I see," she teases, then steps away and shucks off her robe. "I'll have to hurry. Meetings ran late, and I have dinner in less than an hour."

She studies herself in the mirror then gives Draco the marten a cheeky little wink. "He'll just have to be alright with the hair like this."

_Oh, he is,_ Draco thinks. He's more than fine with her hair just like this.

Memory journeys back to fourth year and the ball when she had arrived on Krum's arm with her hair elegantly piled on her head, only a few errant curls escaping the confines. She had been beautiful, but something about her hadn't felt right.

The curls are so much a part of who she is: wild and uncontrolled and beautiful because they won't be contained. He's happy she will be her natural self tonight. Draco can't wait to see her.

She's holding up two dresses, switching them in front of herself as she gazes into the mirror. "Green or blue? Probably, he'd prefer the green," she comments with a small laugh. Turning to give her familliar a smirk, she says, "Too bad," and tosses the green onto the chair, deciding on the blue.

_Good on you, Granger_ , he thinks back at her. _Don't do anything for a wizard's benefit._

Plus, the blue looks to have an enticingly low neckline, so as far as he's concerned, he still gets what he wants.

She disappears into the en suite and emerges a vision. A brush of light color on her lips and the deep blue dress hugging her hips. The hemline stops just below her knees, leaving her legs partially bare and a lovely view of her dainty feet that she is now sliding into a pair of silver strappy heels. Draco is nearly vibrating with excitement.

"Well, this is it," she tells him. "Think he'll like it?"

_He does,_ Draco thinks. _Just wait until he sees you…_

He watches her stash her wand in her bag, and with a final, "Have a great evening, love," she spins on her heel and makes for the door.

Draco scrambles to transform, escape, and find somewhere to change for dinner, grinning the entire way.

* * *

Her bravado starts to wane as soon as she is seated in the restaurant, no Malfoy in sight. Has she read too much into this? Is she overdressed? For a date, it feels appropriate, but what if his designs are more casual? More friend oriented?

Hermione is no stranger to wizards seeing her as a friend rather than a woman. She spent six years chasing Ron from the friend zone, only to wish she hadn't. Is she on the verge of doing the same thing? Chasing a wizard she has no business chasing? She told Harry she was just having a bit of fun, making a friend… So why is she sitting her in her Balenciaga dress with modest diamond studs in her ears, feet crammed into heels that make her legs look longer and her feet smaller?

Because she likes him, that's why. Merlin help her, she likes the git, and he's handsome and charming, and this can only end very badly.

She has just taken a sip of her water when she sees him. Head to toe in a rich charcoal grey, the effect is slightly softer than the all black she has always associated with his attire. He speaks to the maitre d' as his eyes sweep the room, not taking long to land on her. She gives a little wave and stands to greet him. He takes her in as he approaches, his gait purposeful, and she almost feels like she's being stalked. Is the restaurant a bit hot? Color threatens to suffuse her cheeks.

"Granger," he says and leans in to brush a kiss to her cheek. Very chaste, very respectable, but Hermione is losing a battle with the blood in her body that is racing to her face and giving away her excitement.

He pulls back and gestures to her chair, pulling it out for her and then pushing it beneath her legs.

"You look beautiful. I hardly feel worthy to join you, but I'm far too self-serving not to take my place as the luckiest wizard in the room." He sits across from her, a crooked smile on his lips and challenge in his eyes.

Straightening, Hermione fights to find her confidence once again. "Slytherin flattery so early in the evening," she accuses with a smile.

"It occurs to me," he says, holding her gaze, "that our last meeting started with you questioning my intentions. I didn't want to be anything but clear tonight."

"Oh," she manages, barely a word more than simply an exhale. "So, not looking for help at the Ministry?" she tries, a light joke about her earlier suspicions, and he seems to relax in the face of her flippancy.

"Just a date, Granger, if that suits you. A date with a beautiful witch who insisted on buying me dinner. How could I refuse that?" His smile turns into something warmer, and she answers back with her own.

"Excuse me, but can I bring you something to drink?"

The pair look up to find their server, a young Muggle man with dark hair, looking at them expectantly. "Some wine perhaps? We have a Sangiovese that comes highly recommended. Or an aperitif while you decide?"

Hermione looks to Draco, wondering if he will take point. He seems the type to order for his dates. "Would you enjoy a red, Hermione?" She blinks at the use of her name. He doesn't even seem to realize he said it.

"I would. I prefer reds."

Looking back to their server, Draco nods. "A bottle of the one you suggest."

The young man agrees, slipping away to fetch their bottle.

Panning her surroundings, Hermione takes in the muggle restaurant she selected, remembering her last time here before the war. Across the main dining room, an elderly couple is led to their seats, hands held between them like young lovers. To her right, a family is seated with the most exceptionally behaved young girl in a smart blue dress, cutting her fish carefully with her knife. Couples, friends, and, likely, business associates, fill the room, many of them reminding her of home and family. Hermione is quiet, caught up in watching the people around them, and slipping into melancholic reflection in spite of her handsome companion.

"It's hard…" she starts slowly, playing with the napkin in her lap and studying her water glass. "Sometimes, I have difficulty reconciling the past few years with… with this…" She gestures around the room. "This normal life that was going on all the time. All these normal Muggles just going to their jobs and having families with no idea a war was happening in their hidden streets."

She wondered who would broach the elephant in the room. Apparently, it will be her.

He seems to struggle, his previous bravado and suave charm fading. Left in his chair is a nervous young man, barely older than a boy, looking at her warily. "Are you sure this is a good idea? You don't have to do this, Granger." She wonders if she is 'Granger' when he's less comfortable or 'Hermione' when he is putting on a front.

Shaking her head, she argues, "I very much would like to do this. But, for my own sanity, I need to know we aren't ignoring the past, just moving beyond it. Can we do that, do you think?"

He considers, head tilting to the side. "I do, eventually, but maybe we could not discuss it? Not yet, anyway? I'd like to get to know you before we deal with all of… that."

It's a polite and fair request, so she smiles. "We don't need to discuss it. Possibly never." She secretly thinks if they never talk about their past, it doesn't bode well for their situation moving beyond superficial, but that's an issue for another day. "Let's just enjoy this dinner I'm about to pay for."

He groans at her cheeky grin, and, just like that, dinner is wonderful. His overly flirtatious demeanor gone, his guilt no longer coloring the conversation. He's fun and funny, and Hermione soon forgets the time, wine disappearing from glasses and food from their plates. She offers him a bite of her dinner which he playfully eats from her fork rather than using his own. He tells her more stories of his childhood, making her giggle at the idea that he was ever a sweet but precocious little boy, clinging to his mother's robes and terrorizing his father's orderly house.

She offers her own history in kind, telling stories, but avoiding the current state of her family. It wouldn't do to bring the night down with her little tragedy now. Somehow, he seems to know when not to pry, and she appreciates his consideration.

By the last bite of their final course, a chocolate tart with raspberry sauce, they have been talking and laughing for nearly three hours.

"That one's yours," Draco says, using his fork to point at the single bite of chocolate remaining on the dish.

"I couldn't possibly. I'm absolutely full up."

"I would hardly be a gentleman if I took the last bit. And look-" He makes a show of draining the last dregs from his glass. "-I've run out of wine, so I have to be finished."

Hermione huffs, but it's all for show, and they both know it. With a grin, she spears the morsel with her fork and slides it into her mouth, Draco's eyes tracking the entire thing.

"There," she declares after she swallows. "Happy?"

Smile growing wider, Draco nods. "Extremely. All part of my plan to keep you so distracted by food and drink so you keep letting me hang around."

She offers him a crooked smile. "Oh? Was that your plan? So what is the next phase?"

Leaning forward as if to reveal a grand conspiracy, he says softly, "brunch on Sunday. It's all part of my path to eggs benedict at eleven. Care to join me?"

Hermione absolutely can't stop her mouth from grinning, ready to accept, when he interrupts and adds in a mock-whisper, "My treat."

She laughs, head thrown back and caught off guard, she laughs at this playful and ridiculous Draco. Without any hesitation at all, she picks up her glass of water and agrees, "I would love to," before taking a sip.

There is a short silence that falls over them, and they both seem to realize the evening has come to its end. The check is paid, food gone, and their conversation is at a natural lull.

"Can I see you home?"

Hermione chuckles. "I'm a witch, remember? I can just Apparate in a flash."

With a put on sigh, he shrugs. "If you're so ready to be rid of me, then…"

"I would love for you to see me home. It's not far, anyway. Do you know the area well?"

Draco thinks on that a moment before working out, "Fairly well. I'll let you take the lead to be sure."

Hermione starts to rise, and Draco is quick to move around the table and pull out her chair. He is definitely a far cry from Ron Weasley at a dinner table. It's not the first time in the evening she thought it, but perhaps the first time she will admit she has been comparing them as potential partners. Dangerous territory since she is still fairly certain this can't go anywhere, but the wine might be allowing her a bit more emotional honesty than before.

The night air is cool, and Hermione rubs her upper arms with her hands. She feels herself led behind the steps of a house.

Draco, as subtley as he can, pulls his wand from his interior pocket, and, for one regretful moment, Hermione is nervous. He might see it on her face, because his own expression changes, resignation cooling the warmth she has enjoyed all evening in his grey eyes.

"You're cold," he says quietly and casts a warming charm that heats her chilled skin.

She looks up at him, regretting she had even a moment of distrust at his intentions. Will it always be like this between them? Perhaps they should have hashed out their past earlier after all.

"It seems…" he says, still softly, and looking past her shoulder. "Perhaps brunch was presumptuous on my part. If you've other plans, perhaps you had not remembered…"

He's giving her an out. Merlin, love him, he's so vulnerable it aches. Hermione has never felt so low as she does now, regardless that perhaps he has earned her wariness.

Reaching up on her toes, Hermione places her palm on his cheek and brushes one soft kiss to the side of his mouth, feeling him stiffen under her hand. She pulls back and searches his eyes before smiling softly. "You promised me eggs benedict, and I intend to collect." His lips twitch ever so slightly in response.

Dropping back down on her feet, she gestures that they continue and boldly slips her arm through the crook of his. "And then, of course, it will be my turn to treat again, so there's just nothing for it; I'll have to see you for lunch next week."

Pretending at casual flippancy, Hermione swings her hair behind her shoulder but looks at him out of the corner of her eye. He is smiling once again and brings his other hand to lay over top of hers on his arm. "Which," he notes, "will then put me in your debt, so I will have to find an arrangement for dinner in the coming weeks. Can't be owing you favors, Miss Granger."

"And I'll warn you, I can be quite stubborn myself. I can already see another brunch in our future, and we've not even had our first."

At her door, Draco takes her hand and brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss there, a bit more pressure than could be considered chaste. "Sunday," he reminds her. "Eleven, at Upper House?"

She nods and confirms that she will be there, feeling like her feet have left the footpath. "Goodnight then, Hermione."

With a tilt of his head, he backs away then turns and saunters down the street.

Inside, Harry seems to be waiting for her.

"Well, how was it?" The question is even, like he is giving her the chance to set the tone.

Shoulders sagging like she just won or lost a battle, Hermione admits with elation and trepidation in equal parts, "Harry… it was lovely."

Merlin, she might be in trouble...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my usual adoration for my team (LightofEvolution, In Dreams, MCal) and for everyone reading.

Draco spends his weekend much like his days before Granger started her job at the Ministry.

She reads a lot, which is relaxing. Draco cuddles in her lap, peering over the top of the book. It seems she finds it endearing, commenting on what a clever thing he must be. The angle makes it hard to keep up with her very impressive pace, but he can mostly glean the concepts on each page before she turns to the next. This weekend in particular has been a lot of ancient rune theory, a subject Draco has often found to be of interest.

The difference, of course, from this weekend to any previous, is the glorious few hours he spends with her as himself. He is able to beat her to the restaurant this time, allowing him to watch her rush inside, curls wild and breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. She is running a bit late, she tells him, because her familiar did not seem to want to be locked away in her room. She normally would let him wander, but Potter has this new owl, you see, that seems to think her Benedick is an owl treat.

Draco laughs a lot during their meal. She tells him stories of her past week, many to which he is already privy through his perspective of small black eyes, but it all sounds more entertaining when explained in her clipped, no-nonsense tone. They talk about her new position, and Draco does an excellent job, if he does say so himself, not revealing much of anything about his current circumstances.

"I have two flatmates, which is not how I was accustomed to living at the Manor but seems fairly normal after Hogwarts. One is great," he tells her. "Fun sort; quite considerate. The other is a bit of a tosser, but he's very clean, so I suppose I could do worse."

"I'm surprised you don't have your own place," she teases. "Some posh penthouse in Kensington or Chelsea."

Throwing away his usual caution, happy to discuss something that does not endanger his current living arrangements, Draco admits his family's situation. "The Malfoy coffers are not as full as they once were," he says mildly. He certainly doesn't want pity, and he is far from destitute, but she deserves more from him than the superficial bits he has revealed thus far.

"Oh… I'm so sorry. I didn't even think…"

Waving away her apology, he assures her, "No need, Granger. My family paid restitution for war crimes. Truth be told, we are all lucky to still have our soul living in our skin."

She's tricked into a laugh, then covers her mouth, a little horrified with herself. "I'm sorry, just the way you said it-"

"Stop apologizing. Merlin, it was meant to be a bit of gallows humour."

She shakes her head, letting her smile show. "You're so different," she says, awed. "Where on earth has this Draco been hiding all these years?"

"Under my mother's skirts, for the first ten," he quips. "Then, behind my father's name. He never much appreciated my dry commentary."

"Funny, he always struck me as a smarmy type, himself," she comments. How strange to be discussing his father's sense of humour with a Muggleborn. Jarring.

He doesn't bring attention to the odd conversation but instead redirects. "If you've finished, perhaps a walk?" He gestures to her empty plate casually.

"A walk sounds lovely."

And then brunch becomes an afternoon.

By half four, they have explored the neighborhood, found a small shop with what seems like a thousand flavours of icecream, and sat for a time on a bench in a park.

"When can we do this again," she asks boldly, and Draco momentarily doesn't know how to answer.

Smoothing his expression, he plasters on his usual smirk. "Careful, there, Granger, or I just might grow attached."

She blushes and looks out at the people milling in the green grass, watches them a moment before replying. "There are worse things, I would hazard, than having a handsome wizard vie for my company."

Salazar's fucking socks, Draco is walking on dangerous ground. He can't seem to stop himself when he flirts back with, "I'm glad you're so amenable then. Fits in nicely with my further plans."

She laughs at that. "Oh, yes, your plan. I seem to remember this being as far as you had revealed. But, if you recall, I countered with a lunch of my choosing."

"You did. It seems I am at your mercy. Choose a time and place, and I will be there."

Glancing over at him, Hermione squints a little in the golden sun that has peaked from behind a cloud. It makes her nose scrunch, and it's fucking adorable. "Tomorrow, then," she says decisively. "I don't have as much time though, and lunch was so rushed... Perhaps in the Ministry?"

Draco tries to hide his reaction, looking for a casual way to decline. "I'm sure there is something close by... Perhaps another Muggle place. I'm enjoying trying new things."

Her eyes narrow a little, a look he is familiar with seeing on her face. She is puzzling him out, and Draco feels very much an insect under a pin. "You don't want to come to the Ministry?"

With a sigh, Draco leans back against the bench, head and eyes tilting up into the trees. "It would not be my first choice."

"Why?"

Why indeed. "Granger, my family is... not welcome in most wizarding establishments. It's one reason I plan to leave the city. Maybe one day it will change, but right now... I find I am not made to feel comfortable within the magical community."

She seems a little confused and works out, "Mister Tatting seemed very polite when we were shopping..."

Draco laughs at the naivety of the comment. "While the Malfoy vaults contain even a Knut, I assure you, he will be. It doesn't hurt that he adores my mother. I think he can forgive me nearly anything on her behalf."

"But that has not been your experience elsewhere..." she prompts, looking for more. Draco would suppose a little honesty isn't much to ask.

So he relents and opens a little more of his veins. "I didn't leave Hogwarts once during the last year, Granger; do you know why?" When she shakes her head, he continues. "I was owled a letter from nearly every shop in Hogsmeade that neither myself nor my gold would be welcome. I wasn't the only one to receive messages like that, but I received the most by far. Theo received two because of his father's connections; Blaise, only one. The Greengrass sisters were asked to stay clear of Madame Puddifoots... I can go on, but I think you see the point. For me, it was seventeen owls, all but Quality Quidditch Supplies, and I think that's because I owed them more than a few Galleons for a special order."

Granger is looking at him completely horrified, then her eyes darken, and Draco shifts, uncomfortable. Is she angry? Has he only served to remind her of the villain he has always been in her story? That's what honesty gets you.

"They can't do that! You were acquitted! One can't just... _refuse_ to offer service. There is a department for this. First thing tomorrow, I'm going to the Commerce department to file a complaint. Do you think your friends would sign a petition? How dare they take justice into their own hands like this! I'll talk to Kingsley-"

He laughs then, cutting her off. He hopes she isn't offended, but he's never felt such odd joy at someone defending his honor. "You, Hermione Granger, are like no other witch in Britain."

She huffs and crosses her arms, flopping back against the bench and pouting. "I'm happy to amuse you."

Draco, more comfortable than he has ever been with her, takes her hand, unwinding her arms, and pulls her hand toward his lap to hold against his lower thigh, grinning at her all the while. "No one has ever come to my defense with such vigor, Granger. I should be so lucky to have you on my side."

She huffs but doesn't extract her hand. "Yes, well, I'm certainly not against you."

Pulling on her arm, he brings her closer, shifting his own body to bridge the gap between them. Gently, he places the tips of his fingers against her jaw, turning her to face him.

"I'm quite glad of that," he says, then lays his lips against hers. It takes no further encouragement, and the agitated tension in her melts away. Her free hand reaches to lay, firm, at the base of his neck, nails scratching lightly at his skin. It's a kiss that is neither cautious nor aggressive and could not be more ideal in his estimation.

When they part, he lays his forehead against hers, and they share breath for a few beats of his heart.

Feeling there could be no better end to their day, he offers, "Might I see you home once again?"

She chuckles and starts to stand, but he will not let her take her hand away and follows her up. "Finished with me then?" she asks, but there is obvious mirth in her voice.

"Never," he asserts. Flirtatious though it might be, he's fairly terrified to find that he also means it. What has he done? She's going to kill him, and, ridiculously smitten that he is, he might just fucking let her.

"We'll see if you stick to that when I start organizing your day planner. Harry says I'm better in moderate doses."

Draco snorts. "What the fuck does Potter know? He has daily access to you and yet, here you are on a date with me. Obviously, he has no idea what's in front of him."

"And you do?" she asks as they make their way across the park, her hand still tucked into his.

"I think maybe I do, Granger," he tells her sincerely. "And I fear I might have difficulty leaving Britain after all."

She laughs a little, and they walk on, Draco unsure how to dig out of this mess he's making.

* * *

And so it goes for another week, Hermione arriving early to her office each day. She is enjoying the steps she is helping to make, the wizarding world learning to co-exist, and even accept, Muggle society. Her brain child is a referendum to bring before the Hogwarts governors making Muggle Studies not only a more accurate interpretation of Muggle life, but also a required course for students of magical heritage. In conjunction, she is introducing a Wizarding Studies course of work that she would like to see required for Muggleborns.

Ignorance Breeds Illogical Scorn. I.B.I.S.

She's been working on her acronyms.

Draco meets her for lunch twice during the week and a casual early dinner on Thursday. Saturday is a more formal affair, tucked away in a romantic little table, sipping wine and sharing stories.

And with each passing occasion, she becomes more comfortable, more bold, with physical shows of her interest. By the last course of their meal on Saturday night, she is running her foot up his calf as he holds her hands across the table.

"It's early," she hedges, hoping for an invitation elsewhere. She's to be disappointed when he only hums in response, his eyes tracking his thumb as it runs over her hand.

"Maybe we could… have another drink? Somewhere quieter?"

That makes him look up, and, by the surprise in his expression, he understands what she is trying to do. "You want to go somewhere else?"

She nods, swallowing her nerves. "If you would like." Hermione isn't sure where she dug up this confidence, and maybe she's been reading him wrong, but Draco seems to be as invested as she is in whatever is happening between them.

Then again, as stunned as he is, perhaps she pushed too far.

Just as she starts to retract the invitation, he squeezes her hand tighter and finds a smirk worthy of his younger, haughtier self.

"I can honestly say that when I envision the end of our evenings, they continue to a more intimate setting."

Her bravado dims in favour of a blush, but she doesn't release his hand. "Unfortunately," he continues, "I do have my roommate situation. I'm afraid offering you a nightcap at mine is not in the cards."

"Oh, right. Well," she says decisively, "we have a small wine selection at Grimmauld."

He scrunches his nose. "But, Potter…"

Hermione rolls her eyes. "What, are you afraid of Harry?"

"Hardly," he scoffs. "Though, it's a bit like meeting your father," he adds in a grumble, then immediately tenses. "Apologies."

Hermione extracts her hand and eyes him. "What's wrong? If you would rather not, you can simply decline. I suppose it is a bit later than I'd thought."

"No! Not at all, Granger." She watches him sigh and reach back for her hand. "Believe me when I say, I want nothing more than to go home with you."

Oddly, she believes him but can't fathom the reason for him to act so skittish. All the worst possibilities come to her overactive mind.

"Is it… because of who I am?" she asks as delicately as possible. "You know, my… heritage?"

He uses her hand to pull her forward and places his other on her cheek. "Absolutely not, Granger. There's no reason I can say that makes any sense. I'm just… being cautious."

"With what?"

"My heart, I suppose," he confesses, and the tension turns into something else as his thumb traces her cheekbone. "I'm supposed to be leaving, remember?"

Hermione feels the sting of that and pulls away, dropping his hand and sitting back so he can't reach her. "Right. I see. Have you made plans then?"

"No," he admits like it pains him. "Hermione, I was supposed to be gone by now. The only reason I'm still in London is you."

She's fairly sure she was supposed to take that as a compliment, but Hermione does not like to be made to feel as though she is an inconvenience in any way. She stands and digs in her bag for paper notes that cover their meal. It was her turn, after all. "Well then, I am sorry to have kept you, Malfoy."

She turns on her heel and stalks to the door, fully aware he is calling her name and scrambling to follow. Good. Let him chase if it means anything to him. Because, fuck, if this hadn't all meant something to her. How did this even happen? Growing attached in only a handful of dates…

The cool night air is invigorating, and she turns toward an Apparition point only a block away.

"Granger!"

She doesn't stop, unsure how she will react to whatever he might say.

"Granger! Wait!"

He's closer, his voice louder with proximity, but she strides on, mentally chastising herself. She knew, when this started, it wouldn't go anywhere. Why on earth is she so devastated?

"Granger…" Softer now because he is right upon her, a strong hand on her shoulder.

She takes a deep breath and spins to face him. "It's fine, Malfoy, I understand perfectly. I was a bit of a distraction, but it's time to move on. Look, I'm busy anyway. I have my career that's starting to really mean something, and I have my familiar to look out for, plus Harry… I have a full life, and you're ready to go find yours. Sow your oats or whatever disgusting euphemism-"

Her tirade is cut off with a kiss. Nothing like what they've shared before, he seems desperate now. Probably desperate to stop her talking, she thinks bitterly, and pulls away to look over his shoulder. He's relentless, though, and while he doesn't try to kiss her again, he steps into her space and gently tilts her head to look at him.

"Granger… I'm still here. For you."

"For which I apologized," she whispers. "Don't make me feel obligated, like I'm holding you here."

"You stubborn…" Draco sounds exasperated but calmly holds her gaze. "I don't want to leave. Merlin knows why; you're just going to end up hating me, but I want to see more of you. I want to know where we might go."

Hermione sighs and tilts her head at him. "I don't want you to do something you don't want to for me. You'll just end up bitter-"

"I won't. I'm probably making a very large mess of my life right now, but I'm positive that choosing to get to know you is the one thing I'm doing right."

She studies him for a moment, feeling very much like they are at a crossroads. Something in her thinks saying goodbye now would probably be the smartest thing she could do; the most self-protective. But she also knows she will regret it if she does, always wondering how much more depth there might be in this man.

Hermione feels resignation close around her heart and lets out a deep, held breath. "You're going to break my heart, aren't you, Draco Malfoy?"

"Not on purpose," he answers softly, stepping close, as close as he can, nearly flush with her all the way to her toes. "I don't want to," he says emphatically, "and I will try never to let it happen, but I can't promise."

There's so much urgent sincerity in him, she could weep. He is a wizard with secrets and a past, and they both know there is a chance for a tragic end. Yet, here she is, leaning into him and tilting her face for a kiss that he greedily takes.

She parts their lips just enough to ask, "I'm going to make stupid choices for you, aren't I?"

He chuckles and kisses her firmly before answering, "I'm positive I'm making them for you on a daily basis, Granger. I've never had so much fun messing everything up."

They stand there, kissing in the street, until a Muggle couple walks by whispering about them.

"Let me see you home?" he offers, hesitant.

It's not the ending she had hoped for the evening, but she can't fault him for being a gentleman. With a smile, she takes his arm and leads the way.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my everlasting love to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal. And also so much gratitude to all of you

Draco slinks up the tree by Hermione's room only to find her looking out the window with her eyebrow raised.

"Really, Benedick, do I need to set up wards?" She pulls him inside from the branch that sits so close and snuggles him against her. "I was sure I locked that window," she mutters, and Draco thinks he might need to seek out other possible escapes from the house in case she makes good on her threat to ward her window. He's fortunate she often leaves it open for her own enjoyment of the sun and breeze.

It's a warm Wednesday afternoon, and Draco has just returned from the post, asking after messages.

He had four waiting from his mother, two on behalf of his father who has been banned from communicating via owl directly. She urges him to come home, that he's needed, that Lucius needs to speak with him… but Draco finds he doesn't have much to say to the man.

It has been two weeks since his first date with Granger, and their relationship has only become more of an allure. His travel plans (and really, any plans at all outside 'when can I see Granger') have been shelved indefinitely. Yes, it is terribly inconvenient to spend most evenings trapped in his marten form, and yes, he would much rather spend the nights in her bed with a wizard's arms to wrap around her, with his mouth to trail kisses down her neck…

But as an alternative, curling up on her pillow and knowing she is beside him is not the worst fate he can imagine.

The most difficult evening, though, was last night. They'd met once again for dinner. It was a short night, and she had expressed concern that she had to rise early the next day for work. So he had kissed her lightly on the lips at the door of Grimmauld Place and strode away.

When he tried to sneak into his window, however, he found the shades drawn, partially blocking his entry. She nearly never closes the window treatments.

So, of course, he knew something was wrong. He had grown concerned that he had upset her; that perhaps she was unhappy with her evening and was having a moment of feminine weakness…

What he hadn't anticipated was hearing her moan his name and a string of enticing expletives that followed.

He only caught a glimpse, but her hand rustling the sheets and her head thrown back against the pillow was enough. Draco had slid back down the tree cursing his circumstances. He is fully aware she would have given him much more on their past few dates if he was not playing the gentleman, but _fuck_ how is he supposed to do that?

You don't seduce a witch like Granger in her best friend's guest room, trying not to be overheard by the tosser. Nor do you take a respectable and notable woman to a rented room, hidden away as if ashamed.

And you certainly don't do those things when she THINKS YOU ARE A FUCKING PET.

It took some time for Draco to calm himself enough to return. When he had, she was curled on her side, fast asleep, a small smile on her face.

This morning, she left humming, and Draco transformed to a wizard and took care of his own problem the moment she was gone, grateful for the empty house and the privacy of her room.

Now, he is surprised to see her home. He had assumed he had time to visit the post and return. It's only half three.

"Short day, it seems, darling. Annual pest control at the Ministry. I think they're trying to get doxies out of the brain room."

She carries him across the room and out the door, stroking his fur as she does, her hand lightly rubbing just beneath his jaw. Draco is reciting potion recipes to keep from thinking about her last night, curls draped over her pillow, hand disappeared beneath the bed clothes, moving in small circles and quick motions.

_Abraxan hair._

_Aconite._

_Aconite fluid._

_Acromantula venom._

_Adder's for-._

"They sent you home early as well, I see."

Much more effective than hollow lists, Potter's voice sets Draco to rights, and he has no further need for distraction.

"Doxies," she says. "You?"

"Same. Field agents are out, but I was in meetings."

"I thought you _were_ a field agent," she muses. "At least, you were last week."

Potter shrugs at her, then goes about levitating a chair from one side of the room to another. "I'm whatever Robards wants on any given day, apparently."

"And which do you prefer?" she asks idly, watching him rearrange the sofa to sit on the opposite wall.

"The truth?"

Granger grins, that cheeky grin Draco has come to love, and tells him, "Truth is all you and I trade in, Harry Potter."

The git laughs, then answers, "I feel like I do more good in the field, which makes me feel guilty because I prefer the desk."

"Maybe you're meant for management then? Gunning for Robards' job in the future?"

A side table floats to meet the edge of the sofa while a chair settles into place near the hearth. "Can you imagine? You Minister and me Head Auror. Merlin, 'Mione, we're taking over."

They both laugh together in that comfortable way of close friends, and Draco is struck by a jab of jealousy at her easy demeanor. Is she always this relaxed with him? He's not sure that she isn't still waiting for Draco to 'show his true colors' or some such rot, not quite seeming this relaxed most of the time.

"Whatever are you _doing_?" she finally asks Potter, gesturing to the room.

"Hmm? Oh, the room." It's almost like he forgot it was happening around him, regardless that he is holding the wand. "Always hated this room," he mutters, looking around it.

Hermione nods at him, and suddenly the room is a bit solemn. "Is this where…?"

"Yeah," Potter agrees to whatever private conversation they are having. He points to where the sofa previously stood. "Just there."

"He was such a nasty old elf," she says, but sounds oddly fond. Potter just nods, looking quite affected.

Another beat, and then the witch perks up and declares, "I think you need a new sofa."

"What?" Fuck, if Potter doesn't always sound confused. What Draco wouldn't give to be able to recite the definition of a Chesterfield.

"A sofa," she repeats, and then, "and matching chairs. What else are you sitting on all that gold for, Harry? Purge the memories of who used to live here...Make this room into something that feels like home."

"I never really had a proper home. Guess I'm not sure what that would feel like."

Draco is horrified to feel Granger's chest rise and fall, a sniffle, and then she is setting him down to run at Potter, flinging her arms around him.

"We're making a home together," Draco hears her tell him, muffled by his shoulder where her face is buried.

Potter wraps his arms around her and nods into her hair, one had bracing the back of her head to keep her close. _Hello, Jealousy, my old friend._

"Then you have to help me choose the draperies," he mutters. "I'm rubbish at accessorizing."

She laughs and the git chuckles, and finally they pull away from each other. More stern, Hermione jabs a finger at her friend's chest. "And we need to do something about Ogden's room as well. His window's too small, and I think he likes the mirror in the corridor. You should get him one in his room."

Rolling his eyes and finishing his rearranging with a shift of the threadbare rug on the floor, he relents, "And a mirror for Ogden. Tomorrow maybe? After we're both finished up at the Ministry."

"Oh.. Well, I can't tomorrow. Perhaps this weekend? Saturday morning? Well… no, maybe Sunday would be better. I might be awake late Friday, but Sunday could work. As long as it's early, finished by… I don't know… one?"

Potter is watching her, amused. "Full schedule?"

She flushes and admits, "I might have some plans."

"Malfoy?"

Draco is glad to hear a little less malice in his old rival's tone. Now, he's teasing her, and it's far better than judgement. If he was a better man, he might admit Potter is a good friend. But Draco is a marten, so he doesn't have to admit a damn thing, thanks.

"Draco and I are meeting for dinner, yes," she answers back with straight shoulders and an expression that dares anyone to argue.

"Tomorrow _and_ Friday," he clarifies, then shakes his head.

She laughs and scoops Draco up once again. "No questioning my choices in this, Harry. You promised."

Did he? Draco must have missed that conversation, but it's good to know.

"I did. Just clarifying… Come on, let's grab an early dinner and watch something. It's my turn to encroach upon your evening. That git gets you nearly every night."

Funny enough, that's exactly how Draco feels when she leaves him at the front step, slipping into Potter's house.

"No one will ever replace you, Harry," she tells him in turn. It would be a sweet moment, but it leaves Draco feeling unfairly sour. Tucked away in the body of a small mammal, things can never progress with Granger.

And if they could? What then? Stay in England and entertain owls from his parents about the family business and obligations at home? Re-integrate himself into society amidst the stares, biting commentary, and downright refusals to associate?

Hermione is scratching behind his ears and following Potter from the room, and his attention goes back to her just in time to catch, "...such a gentleman. Who knew Draco Malfoy could be so considerate."

Potter scoffs and makes a comment about no one else agreeing with her, and they laugh with each other and settle in for the evening. Draco is nestled on Granger's lap, trying to decide how to accomplish the one goal that has become nigh obsessive: How to keep Hermione Granger. It seems simple enough until he factors in living his life in peace while somehow not breaking Granger's heart. So far, he can't find a way to avoid the last.

It's after eleven when Draco feels himself lifted, at which point he realizes he has been asleep.

They are four steps up, Draco still drowsy in her hold, when Potter stops them.

"I shouldn't say anything…"

Granger turns to look at her friend, giving him her attention.

"The request was made above my station, and I shouldn't even know about it… but Narcissa Malfoy has made a petition to have Lucius' sentence re-examined."

Suddenly not so drowsy, Draco rests his little black eyes on Potter. What would make his mother think Lucius would be granted a new trial?

Very much on that same wavelength, his witch poses the same question. "What on earth would make her believe the Wizengamot would reopen his case? He's lucky he wasn't given the Kiss… like nearly every other Death Eater," she adds, stressing the sentence with a slow and emphatic delivery.

Potter shrugs. "Dunno. I just thought you might like to know. Because of Malfoy. Only… I'm not supposed to know, so maybe don't mention it to him yet?"

"Harry," she says, chastising, "I don't like keeping secrets from people I care about."

Draco ignores the happy little swoop in his belly at her admission, as much as the very pointed guilt over his own secrets, and tries to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Neither do I, hence me telling you," the tosser quips, and Hermione rolls her eyes at him in turn. "But the Malfoys… look, I know you told me to trust your judgment with Malfoy, alright? And I was there to see him hesitate more than once… but his father…. Hermione, I just don't trust that family, and if you're involved with one of them, and the others are going to make a play at power or… or I don't know what."

Potter sighs and runs his hand through his perpetually mussed hair. Leveling her with a look, he tries to find his conclusion. "I just want you to be careful, alright? Lucius Malfoy fought for Tom Riddle twenty years ago and somehow ended up on the Hogwarts board. Whatever his plans are, I doubt he just wants access to owls so he can write encouraging letters to orphans. He wants his freedom back, and history shows him doing bad things with it."

Draco feels Hermione nod as she resumes her path up the stairs, not liking how much sense that whole little speech made. For that matter, he doesn't much trust his father, either. Surely, there's no reason to be concerned, however? What can the man possibly do?

Old Malfoy stories flit like wisps through his thoughts; Errant sons and heirs dabbling with Muggles only to have their paramours _Avada'd_ for the trouble. A history of purity won by bloodshed and lies.

He shakes his marten head. No. His father doesn't even know where he is, less likely who he is with. But then, what would motivate? Does he plan to leave the Manor only to track Draco to the end of the earth? Force him back into some servitude or the other? Malfoy Industries, nearly destroyed though it is, was always expected to be Draco's future. Dark wizards or dark magic or dark dealings… Lucius Malfoy has always been slave to a master, though he fancies himself a Lord.

It's why Draco ran. He could still run. He could leave now and be in Bermuda by morning.

But he knows he won't. He has plans with Granger tomorrow, and he's not ready to leave. Not sure he's going to be ready for a very long time.

She is stroking him now, running her fingers lighly down his head with one hand while rubbing his coat with the other. She coos at him and tells him how very sweet how is; how happy she is with him, how lonely she was at Hogwarts.

So Draco stays, as he knew he would, and puts thoughts of his mother, of his father, aside. Let them try. They won't find him here.

* * *

Hermione finds that Draco seems a bit stiff at dinner the following day, but she knows she is being stiff as well. Merlin, she hates having a secret. Harry really did her a disservice by saying anything at all.

Though, of course she'd kill him if she knew he was keeping things from her, so really it's a catch-22.

Finally, hoping to break the tension, she sighs and reaches across the table for his hand. He seems to relax somewhat. "Tell me about your day."

He scoffs at her a little but with a warm smile. "Really, Granger? My day? This is either a first date or we've been married for fifty years."

She chuckles. Alright, yes, it was a bland question for a… how many now?... ninth date? She has certainly seen a lot of him in not even twenty days.

"Sorry," she answers through her smile. "You just seem a bit quiet."

"Apologies." Lifting her hand from the table, he presses it to his lips. "You have my full attention, Granger."

"This weekend, Harry and I are going to do a little furniture shopping. I know we usually do brunch on Sunday, but maybe we could make it a late lunch?"

He lets out a put upon groan that she knows isn't completely sincere. "Losing you to another wizard already? But brunch is our thing, love."

She giggles a bit, she's quite ashamed to say. He has such a profound effect with so little, it's maddening. "We've had brunch twice," she quips back.

"Right, but I'm building habits so you don't notice how fully I've infiltrated your life. You'll be none the wiser until suddenly, you just can't get rid of me."

She smiles a little crooked, feeling ridiculously struck. "I've no intention of ridding myself of you, Draco." His answering grin is almost as sappy as Hermione feels. Merlin, what in the world is he doing to her?

Taking a chance, she asks, "Maybe Friday, we could do something different?"

"Do tell," he nudges, still holding her hand.

"I'd like to cook for you. Nothing terribly fancy," she says quickly. "But if we're going to continue seeing one another, which I would very much like, restaurant dining everyday of the week might start to dent my purse."

She grins, like it's a joke, but it's also very true. Hermione makes a nice wage at the Ministry, but she started with nothing after the war. Anything that might have been hers vanished with her parents' memories when she sent them packing to Australia with every pound she could scrape together. Their savings, her savings, and the funds they had put aside for her to start her trek into adulthood. Moves are expensive, as were the palms she had to grease at the Australian Ministry to look the other way in settling their resident papers.

Not to mention, Draco has admitted that the Malfoy vaults are notably more bare than before.

"You want to cook for me? At your place with Potter?" He scrunches his nose in distaste, but it seems more good natured than not.

"I'll tell him to make himself scarce for the night. I'm sure you'd hardly see him."

He pretends to think on it, finally relenting with a grand sigh. "I suppose there are worse things than a beautiful witch making me a meal…"

She laughs and warns him, "Please keep in mind that my domestic skills are lacking. I'm no Molly Weasley… Truthfully, you'd probably have a better meal if Harry cooked for us, but I highly doubt that is in the cards."

Grasping her hand tighter, he assures her sweetly, "I'm sure that anything you make would be excellent. You're brilliant; surely you can follow a recipe," he adds with a wink.

"Oddly, I find cooking much more difficult than potion making in that regard, but I'd like to give it a whirl. It would be nice to do something for you."

He grins and counters, "You buy me dinner every other day, Granger, you certainly don't have any reason to do more than you've done."

Waving that away with her free hand, Hermione disagrees. "Tossing a few notes on a cheque is fine and all, but I want to give you something… something I've worked at." She looks away, feeling warmth in her cheeks as she admits, "I want you to know what our time together means to me, and I'm not sure how else to do that."

Draco drags her gaze back by tugging at her hand, then rises and walks around the table. Their meal was virtually finished anyway, and the evening is growing late. She accepts his help to stand.

Facing one another in the middle of a Muggle cafe, she feels a little on display but can't take her eyes from his. "Being with you like this… Hermione, _this_ is a gift. Your…." He pauses, seeming to search for words. It's strange, finding him at a loss. "Your forgiveness was already more than I deserve… Still is, actually. Someday, I almost expect you to take it back," he admits, and his eyes are uncharacteristically sad.

Hermione reaches up to place a palm on his cheek, and he turns his face to lay a soft kiss there. "Come on," she prompts, not liking the pain in his eyes. "This is the part where you walk me home and leave me wanting more." She smiles, trying to let him know she will always want more, no matter how much he gives.

He leads her out into the warm night, arm in arm as they always do. "So dinner?"

Draco looks over at her and smiles. It almost reaches his eyes. "I would be honored to accept. No witch has ever cooked for me."

"Then it's well past time," she agrees and snuggles herself closer.

They walk a few paces, when she perks up and adds, "Oh, and maybe you can finally meet my familiar!"

He only hums in response. She takes that as his sign he's enjoying the quiet of the night.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the hearts and hugs to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal. As I find myself interacting with very few people, I'm grateful to have connections to the lovely people I've met in this fandom. Thanks to my team and my readers, for reminding me there's an entire world still turning every day.

Draco is perched on Hermione's lap while she enjoys a scone with coffee. She will be leaving for the Ministry before long, giving Draco time to prepare himself for the evening. Tonight, she is making dinner for him here in this very kitchen, and he is a bit nervous about the whole affair.

A copy of the Prophet is perched against the bowl of cream, and she is idly tracing various passages with her left hand.

Her flatmate is puttering around by the sink, washing vegetables or something. Really, he is far more domestic than Draco would have guessed.

"The Wizengamot is declaring May 2nd a holiday."

Potter hums in reply. "Yes, I'd heard. I'll be expected to attend, apparently. Want me to give some speech."

Granger wrinkles her nose. "How awful. Did you tell them where they could stuff that request?"

He snorts at her, cutting the greens from a carrot and slicing it into small disks. "I think Malfoy is having an effect on you. I can't tell the Ministry to 'stuff it', Hermione."

"You could," she answers primly, turning the page to another section while Potter quarters a tomato and throws it in some strange glass beaker with notches marking the side.

Draco watches her skim through the society pages, not really reading with any amount of interest. Just as she starts to turn the page, he catches a glimpse of "Narcissa" and zeros in on the passage. All he can absorb is "limited parole has been granted" and "husband to remain under original" before Granger has moved onto commerce.

"Flourish and Blott acquired a space in Gloucester. Apparently, they are going to open a Muggle branch."

"Seems an odd choice," Potter comments, coring the seeds from a pepper to add to his odd carafe salad.

Draco is distracted with thoughts of his mother. Has Lucius already gone to trial only to have his appeal denied? Is his mother allowed to leave the Manor with her new, limited sentence? He will have to be much more cautious about retrieving his post. It wouldn't do to run into her now. Not with his life finally coming together, pretense not withstand-

The kitchen explodes into a cacophony of grinding noise, and Draco flies from Granger's hold, darting beneath the small stool in the corner, eyes wild and searching.

The noise stops as suddenly as it starts, and Granger is there in a flash, her coffee overturned and dripping over the side of the table. "Oh Benedick, I'm so sorry." She looks over her shoulder at Potter and hisses, "Harry, a little warning."

Draco, heart pounding in his chest, peers around her to find Potter holding the odd carafe. No longer piled with cut up bits of vegetation, it is now a sludge that he is pouring into a glass. "Sorry," he shrugs. "Didn't really think about him reacting like that."

She scoops Draco up, lovingly as is her nature, and holds him against her. "He's a magical familiar, Harry, I'm sure he's never seen a blender before. What are you even doing, anyway?"

Potter grins that stupid, boyish grin of his and answers, "Oh, I thought I'd try juicing. Supposed to be excellent for your health."

"Juicing. Merlin, Harry, just eat an apple."

"But this has everything I need. A whole day worth of vitamins just here."

Hermione points her wand at her coffee and siphons the puddle back into the mug, righting it next to her plate. With mocking interest as Potter starts to drink, she asks, "And how does it taste?"

Grimacing, the git says, "A bit like Skele-gro, if I'm honest. Maybe I should leave out the turmeric. Or the pepper. Maybe the mango..."

She laughs at him and carries her plate to the sink, pouring the dregs of her coffee down the pipes. "Might be a mix of all of it. Was that oregano I saw you adding as well?"

He takes another large gulp, swallowing visibly. "That is wretched," he says, almost to himself. "Definitely the nutmeg needs to go."

"On that note," she says, still laughing, "I'm off. Remember, tonight I'm entertaining."

"Yes, yes... dinner with the ferret. No offense, Benedick... I'm going to grab a pint with the crew."

"Quidditch crew? Ron?"

Giving up, Potter pours the rest of his greenish gunk down the drain as well. "Ron couldn't make it, but yeah, the usual. Nott and the like."

She lifts her brows at him. "Again? Is he becoming a regular part of your group then?"

"He's been around a bit. Interesting sort. I mentioned to him you were seeing Malfoy, by the way and he seemed surprised. He'd been under the impression your boyfriend had skipped town."

Hermione agrees that, yes, Draco had intended to leave but wasn't sure of his plans. "Maybe I should tell Draco he was asking after him. He should probably send an owl so he doesn't worry."

"He wasn't worried; just surprised. Don't start mothering him already, for Merlin's sake."

She tilts her nose in the air and harumphs at her friend. "I'm not _mothering_ , Harry. It's hardly out of place to think people should communicate with their friends. Just proper etiquette."

"Right. Not nagging at all." Granger starts to say something, probably something very defensive and adorable, but Potter cuts her off with a placating, "And of course we all appreciate your concern and efforts. Have a good day, Hermione."

With a roll of her eyes but a smile nonetheless, she answers in kind. "You too, Harry. Don't forget your jumper."

"Yes, Mum." He winks and Hermione giggles, and Draco is, as always, jealous of their easy friendship.

But tonight, he will have Hermione all to himself. No strangers to stare or wizards to judge or Potters to lurk. He isn't sure if he is more or less nervous than before. He's going to kiss her, of that he's certain, but what happens then? What if she invites him upstairs? Salazar's sack, would he love to accept...

What if she wants to find Benedick to introduce them? What if she is frantic, tearing apart the house to find her familiar? Draco imagines himself transforming back and forth, running from room to room like some ridiculous comedy of errors.

This was a mistake... He shouldn't be coming here. But how could he say no? He can't keep this up forever. Draco has never been so blessed and cursed by the same decision.

Granger leaves shortly thereafter, and Draco takes the opportunity for Benedick to "escape". He's fortunate the window is already cracked open. It would be easy to imagine the marten edging himself beneath and pushing up on the frame. This will allow him to remain scarce during the evening, and hopefully not worry her too much since she is growing accustomed to him sneaking out.

That done, Draco decides it's time to see an old friend, and apparates himself to the Nott estate in Cornwall.

Approaching the gates with care, he can feel the moment the wards brush against his magic and pauses only a step away to wait for Theo.

"Figured you'd turn up eventually."

The gates creak open to reveal Draco's oldest friend standing in their center. He offers an easy smile, honestly glad to see the tosser. "Theo. You've been well?"

"Well enough," he answers with a shrug. "What's this I hear about you and Granger? And why are you even still in England?" He's looking at Draco with assessing, squinted eyes, and Draco shifts from foot to foot.

"Not going to invite me in? Shall we have this conversation here on the grounds?"

"You're not even on the grounds yet, you complete cock. Where have you been the past month?" He sounds agitated, but he steps to the side and gestures for Draco to enter, and they fall into step toward the house.

"Here and there," Draco answers evasively, expecting more prying but willing to give up nothing of his current circumstances. "You've been spending time with Potter, I hear. How did that happen."

"Wait, I'm sorry, did we skip the part where you're shagging a Muggle-born Gryffindor because I have a little Quidditch game going on the side?" He ticks off his points with his fingers as he recites, "I'm friendly with Luna Lovegood, who is, in turn, friendly with Potter. I like Quidditch; he needed players. There, that's my story. Now," he pauses to wave a wand at the front door, releasing the additional wards to allow them entry before continuing, "how did you find yourself in the golden girl's bed?"

He had meant to deny the shagging, but he can't claim he's not been in her bed...

"I ran into her, purely by accident," he says, completely truthful. He'd had no intention of meeting _her_ specifically at the Black Lake.

"And, what? The stars aligned, and you forgot to leave the country?"

Draco laughs at the ire in his voice. "Are you jealous or something, Nott?"

"Completely," the man deadpans. "You've sussed me out."

They enter the receiving parlor, chuckling, and Draco sits without invitation. He's always jealous of Potter's natural ease with Granger, but with Theo, he enjoys nearly as much familiarity. He's sort of missed the clod.

Theo settles into a chair opposite the room and pours a bit of amber liquid from a carafe. With a gesture and no words, he asks if Draco would like a glass. A tilt of Draco's head says that, indeed, he certainly would. Drinks poured, Theo levitating one to Draco's hand, he starts again, asking the same questions in a different way. "Did you even leave England at all?"

Draco shakes his head then fortifies himself with a drink. It's a smoky scotch that Nott Sr. had favoured. "I didn't. I was making preparations when I decided to stay."

"Because of Granger? Merlin, don't be so obtuse. You _know_ how ridiculous this sounds. How did that even happen?"

Draco chuckles in return. "Completely ridiculous, I'm aware. As it happens, I quite enjoy speaking with her."

"Speaking?" Theo asks with a lifted brow. "Is that the euphemism the kids use these days?"

With a sigh, Draco places his glass on the table in front of him. "I'll have you know, our relationship has been respectful thus far." Of course, that might change after tonight, but that is none of Nott's concern. Draco himself doesn't know what will happen, what he wants to happen, all things taken into account. But that's between him and Granger and his conscience and has nothing to do with Theo.

Theo blinks. "You've not bedded her, then?" Draco shakes his head in reply, and his friend breathes out a low whistle. "Well, well...Is this serious, Malfoy?"

"Probably not, in the end," he says, trying to flippancy but sounding defeated. "I don't really see her moving past the things I've done."

"Seems as though she's moved past them just fine from what Potter says. You've been out with her a dozen times in a month. You sound pretty bloody forgiven."

He looks away, jaw clenched, and picks up his glass for a long pull. "She doesn't know all the things I've done."

"Easy enough to fix, wouldn't you say?" Draco looks at Theo to find his head cocked to the side, and a small smile tilting his lips. When he makes no reply, Theo goes on. "Look, whatever hard conversation you haven't had, she's completely smitten, according to her very best friend. I doubt there's much she won't forgive you."

Draco disagrees with that wholeheartedly but has no intention of giving away his secret to anyone, not even Theo. Instead, he hedges with a vague, "I guess we'll see."

They are quiet another moment, sipping their liquor and contemplating, when Theo asks another invasive question. Why is he friends with this utter cock again?

"Have you been to see your mother, yet? She sent me owls, you know, earlier this month. You could at least tell the poor woman you're not dead in some godforsaken wizarding countryside."

"Why on earth do I need to talk to my mother when you do such a fine job of nagging me yourself," Draco quips.

"Happy to do it," Theo says back with a smirk but then turns serious again. "Your mother, though, she sounded very desperate to find you. I wrote back that you were travelling, of course, but she knew that. Said she really needs you home."

"My mother trades in duplicity and guilt like a merchant with cheap wares." A further levelled look from Theo, and Draco relents with a sigh. "Fine. I'll try to see her soon. But I've no intention of being dragged back to fix Lucius' mistakes. I'm done living for him. For anyone. I'm living for me."

"And Granger," Theo corrects him with a smirk.

Draco answers back with a sincere smile. "Yes, well, that's also self serving. I think I'm getting more from her than I could ever give back."

"Imagine when you actually shag her, then," Theo tosses out casually with a laugh. Draco has been imagining little else all day.

"Speaking of Granger…" Draco stands, leaving his empty glass behind. "I have a date this evening, and I really should make myself presentable.

"Well, since you're hanging around, next time we all meet at the pub, you should come as well."

Draco tries very hard to imagine that. First, he pictures himself tucked in a booth, one arm slung around Granger's shoulder, her hand on his thigh. She's laughing and happy, and Draco is smiling at Theo across the table. He remembers being with her as his other form and can envision the scene very well.

But, as he scans the table in his vision, he sees scowls on Gryffindor faces, fear in Lovegood's eyes, and, finally, Weasley advancing on him to tear him to pieces.

"I'm not sure that's a great idea. I know the general group you've been running with."

"If you're worried about Weasley, he's stopped coming. Got himself some rebound bird after Granger rejected him."

It helps, but it's not everything. Not wanting to argue, not wanting to admit how much scorn he has felt or the depth of his trepidation upon seeing Luna Lovegood after her stay in his family's dungeon, he waves away the idea with a casual, "I'll think about it." Which he has no intention of doing, and, probably, Theo is aware.

"Come 'round next week?" Theo is looking at him relatively intensely, expectant, and Draco doesn't feel he can say no.

"Sure. Tuesday? Your elves can make brunch."

His friend laughs and claps him on the back as they walk to the front door. "I'll have Tilly make eggs benedict."

A bit close to home, but Draco doesn't think he reacts.

"Speaking of, what's with that animal Granger has clung to? She even brought it to the pub."

"Benedick," Draco answers defensively on instinct then covers with a flippant, "I haven't seen it, yet. Hides a lot. Likes to run off and explore."

"Hmm. Odd little thing. Too clever, by my estimation; eerie. Kept staring at me that night."

Draco hums, unsure what to say. He will have to be more careful if Granger takes him out of Grimmauld. More… mustelid-like.

They reach the door which swings open with a wave from Theo. "It's good to see you, Nott," he tells him, and he means it, regardless of the nagging and uncomfortable questions.

"Yeah, you as well, you prat. Next time you say you're leaving the country, bloody well leave. Otherwise, come by more, alright?"

"Right," Draco agrees with a grin. "Tuesday, then."

"Tuesday. Go, get your Gryffindor."

With a two-fingered salute, Draco spins in place and Apparates, Theo's chuckle reverberating through the ether.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued love for LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal for all the time they put in with me on this story and to all of you reading!

Hermione is feeling a bit rushed when she leaves the Ministry. Draco will be arriving in less than two hours, and she is not the most adept at the culinary arts, to put it very, very mildly.

"Oh, Harry! I didn't expect to see you." Nearly falling out of the grate from a hasty Floo travel, she is surprised to find her friend still in his home.

"Seamus and Luna both had late days, so we are meeting in a bit. All set for your evening?"

It's a casual enough question, but Hermione groans and drags out a defeated, "No… I'm absolute rubbish in the kitchen, you know that. Why did I do this, Harry? Ugh…" She collapses onto a chair and drops her face into her hands only to look up at the sound of her friend chuckling at her.

"I'm so glad you find this amusing," she snaps, hackles rising. "I know you don't agree with my seeing him, but I quite like Draco, you know. I'm about to make an utter fool of myself and-"

"Hermione, stop," he interrupts, fully laughing now. "You'll be fine." He extends his hand, offering assistance to rise. "Come on, I've got something for you."

With an irritated roll of her eyes, she follows as Harry leads her through the house. Breaking across the threshold of the kitchen, he gestures to a glass bowl on the cooktop. "I've some chicken in marinade there. Molly's recipe, sure to please. All you have to do is cook it up. And we have all you'd need for a lovely salad, cleaned and prepped so you can just throw it together. Some russets in the pantry for jacket potatoes, or mash if you like, but that might take a bit more time."

Hermione isn't sure she can find any words but feels her eyes sting. In lieu of breaking down in sobs, she gives him a light punch in the bicep. "Harry!" Then throws her arms around his neck. He snickers as she breathes out an affected, "How do you _do_ that?"

"It's nothing, honestly. I keep a jar of the marinade all the time under stasis, and the vegetables were all here; I just chopped a bit, plus we always keep potatoes around-"

"No, I mean, taking care of me. When it really counts." She pulls back to look at him and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"Want any help baking?"

She shakes her head and extracts herself from the embrace. "No, really, this is brilliant. Any more and I can hardly claim any credit at all. Surely, I can manage from here. I owe you."

He shrugs. "Draperies Sunday, you promised." She laughs a little, agreeing to keep her word, and Harry winks as he leaves the room.

Hermione looks around, taking stock of the steps she will need to make a meal, then sets to work.

"Step one," she says to herself, "baking the chicken…"

* * *

Draco transfigures his robes into a simple ensemble of dark trousers and a crisp charcoal oxford then steps onto the boulevard that leads to Potter's place. He's due to arrive in five minutes and certainly doesn't want to keep Granger waiting. It's been difficult to stay out all day, his instinct to scamper back up his tree and wait for her to come home, but he hadn't wanted to risk Potter or Granger seeing him and keeping him by their side until dinner.

At the door, he straightens his cuffs and takes a breath before sounding the bell on the right. In the depths of the house, he hears the soft tone and sets his mouth into an easy smirk, hoping to appear casual and enticing. The expression fades when the door opens.

"Malfoy."

A beat passes before he collects himself enough to return, "Potter."

They stare at each other, Draco waiting for an invitation inside and Potter just looking like a complete knob who's forgotten his manners. With a sneer, Draco breaks the silence. "I've an engagement with Granger."

"Oh, yes, I know," the tosser replies and still doesn't extend an invitation.

With a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose, Draco finally relents. "Do you think you might see fit to invite me inside?"

Finally, Potter steps aside and gestures for Draco to enter. "May as well wait in the parlour," he says off-handedly. "Hermione will be a few minutes. Don't tell her I said anything, but I believe the potatoes might be giving her a bit of trouble."

Unable to help the smile at the image of a frantic Granger, floating around in a cloud of her own hair in a panic, Draco relaxes, remembering why he is here.

He hopes he still knows the answer but asks, "And, are you joining us this evening, Potter? I don't typically enjoy dates as a group activity."

"Just about to leave, actually. I'm sort of glad I've caught you, though."

"Is this the moment I endure your protective Gryffindor speech? Going to threaten my life in regards to Granger?" Draco bristles, offended on Hermione's behalf. No way would she appreciate Potter meddling in her personal life.

"Merlin, you're such a prick. No, I wasn't going to threaten you, Malfoy, Jesus. I thought I might help you out."

"The fu- Why would I ever accept help from you?" Draco squints at Potter, trying to work out his angle. This wasn't what he expected.

"Because helping you helps Hermione, and if nothing else, surely you believe I love her enough to take care of her." When Draco doesn't respond, doesn't even know how to, Potter continues. "I don't know how much she's told you, but Hermione doesn't have much of anyone right now. She has me, and apparently, she has you."

Draco nods, inviting him to continue. If the prick can be civil, Draco would suppose he can as well.

"Hermione is a pretty solid judge of character, though I would like to state, for the record, in sixth year, you absolutely _were_ a secret fucking Death Eater."

He starts to respond, but Potter talks over him. "But Hermione thinks you might have feelings for her, and I think it's pretty obvious she does for you. So, if that's the case, be a little patient with her, alright?"

"What the fuck does that mean? If you're implying I've forced her into any-"

"No, no. Don't be so fucking defensive," Harry snaps back. "I mean, she's had a difficult time."

The agitated quality of Potter's voice settles and he explains, "I'm not sure if you know about her family, and don't ask because it's not my secret to tell, but Hermione lost a lot during the war. She puts on a good face, but she has hard days. When you see that… Just don't give up on her, thinking she's pushing you away. Some days, you just have to let her be sad, and not take it personally."

Draco stares at him, dumbfounded. So the prick _does_ know about Granger's more depressed moods. All those times he seemed to overlook her melancholy, was he more intuned than Draco thought?

There is another long silence, Draco trying to work through the conversation in his own head, before Potter claps his hands together once and brushes them off, as if ridding himself of the awkward moment suffusing the room. "Right then, I'm off. Look, Hermione is her own witch. I'm not giving you orders or warning her to be careful. I'm just asking, as someone who loves her, that you be kind to her. She's been better the past couple of weeks. I'm giving you some credit here, and I'd appreciate if you prove me right."

He starts to walk out, and then tosses over his shoulder with a smarmy little grin, "You know, like how I was right in sixth year."

Draco is struck, and watches the doorway until Potter has turned the corner. Distantly, he hears, "Hermione, your ferret in shining armour is here," but all Draco can do is shake his head.

_The fuck just happened._

He's not sure what to do after that and takes a moment to look around the room in which he finds himself. It's the one Potter just rearranged, and the perspective is different from six feet off the ground. The sofa really is horrid, he notices, screwing up his face in revulsion. The back seems a bit broken down, and it is covered in dingy brocade roses.

"It's an eyesore, isn't it?"

Draco spins in place to find Granger watching him with a sweet little tilt to her head and a slight quirk of her lips. Fuck, is he happy to see her. He can't help his answering smile, broad and sincere. "Absolutely terrible," he agrees, and promptly crosses the room to greet her.

He doesn't hesitate before winding his arms around her waist, pulling her body into his, and pillowing her bottom lip with his own. "Missed you, witch," he breathes against her skin, only to feel her mouth stretch into a wider smile of her own.

"Missed you too," she agrees, nipping at him again and threading her fingers into his hair. He presses himself closer, kissing her back with more force until he feels her tongue trace across the seam of his mouth. He answers back with a flick of his own, settling into a pace that seems to be heading toward a most beautiful conclusion.

A throat clears, and Draco groans so loud, it echoes off the walls.

Potter is giving them a cheeky and most unwelcome grin. "Have fun, you two."

" _Bye_ , Harry," Granger says with emphasis, literally waving at him to leave. Potter laughs all the way to the Floo and vanishes in a flash of green.

"What a git," Draco mumbles and is relieved when Granger, rather than being offended, laughs and agrees.

"Completely. I've been trying to shoo him out for twenty minutes. He hovers like a nursemaid."

Granger steps back, but keeps a hold of his hand. Their more intimate moment broken, Draco's mind drifts to something he's been curious about, and takes the opportunity for a little reconnaissance.

"Anyway, back to this wretched chesterfield, is this why you're furniture shopping with Potter?"

"In part," she agrees. "Really, we are redoing this entire room."

Draco glances around, pretending to take in the entirety of the decor. "The sofa, yes, but the rest is… Well it has an old world charm, I suppose," he lies. It's honestly not even one stitch of charming, but he wants to know why the desperate need to change it. The mouldings, at least, seem original. Something of the room should be able to be salvaged...

"Harry isn't comfortable here," she says. At his look, expectant and searching, she sighs. "This room has some bad memories, is all. Harry's elf died here."

Draco lets the confusion pinch his features. "Potter had an elf?"

"Well, really the Black family had an elf, so it came with the house. Kreacher, was his name. He was especially loyal to Regulus Black."

Nodding in understanding, Draco recalls something about the elf in connection with the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. He's almost sorry he asked, but he can't brush away the subject now.

"Was it… during the war?" he asks softly, broaching very dangerous territory. He is relieved when she answers in the negative.

"No, afterwards. Just this past spring. He was very old," she adds. "It was hard for Harry, I think. They had a lot of animosity, and I think he feels… unresolved. He's bitter, but then he feels bad, thinking ill of the dead." She shrugs, like she doesn't know what else to say. "Just a bit of baggage… like we all have, I suppose."

Draco nods, looking away. "Like we all have," he agrees, feeling his own guilt settle like a weight on his lungs.

"Anyway," she says after a moment, "enough of that. Can I show you to the dining room?"

Grateful for absolutely anything else to do or say, Draco smiles and follows her from the room. Hoping to lighten the mood and perhaps throw Potter under the proverbial carriage, he comments, "I hear you had a little trouble with the potatoes, Granger."

He chuckles when she mutters an irritated, "Stupid Harry."

* * *

Dinner is, much to Hermione's delighted surprise, fairly palatable. She admits to Draco about halfway through that she had a touch of help. He doesn't seem to mind, only wrinkles his nose a little that Harry had handled his meal. She giggles at his dramatics.

They are settled in the drawing room, a fire burning low and two stemmed glasses of port on the table, when Hermione decides they can no longer skim the surface of this relationship. Hermione Granger is an all or nothing sort of witch, and she wants all.

She picks up her glass and fingers it idly, tracing the perimeter with the tip of her index. "I know I said we didn't really have to discuss anything… you know…. _Difficult_ between us, but I think maybe we have to. I can't see continuing like this…"

She peeks at him through her lashes, nervous to hear his response. He sets his jaw and settles against the sofa, bringing his own glass with him and taking a healthy gulp of the thick, sweet liquid. "I had hoped it had become a non issue," he mutters. "Is this the part where you tell me you can never truly forgive me?" He locks his gaze across the room, not seeming able to look her in the eye.

Hermione stares at him, mouth gaped, and sets her glass back down to turn fully toward him, knees brushing. "Not at all!" she denies emphatically. "No, I just… Draco."

She waits for him to turn his face. His name draws him to glance her way, body still stiff. Reaching forward, she takes his hand, removing his own glass and setting it aside. "Draco, I certainly didn't invite you here, cook for you, to turn you away. I want… I want more from this," she admits, clinging to his hand in both of hers.

He screws up his face in confusion but turns slightly to face her, body language more open than before. "If you need apologies after all, I'm more than prepared to give you that."

"No." She shakes her head. "That's not it. I don't need apologies or excuses or reasons for anything from before. I think I understand well enough, to be honest. Your trial was fairly invasive."

He looks horrified. "You were there?"

Hermione shrugs and gives him a sad smile. "It was required for my written petition to be taken into account."

"What petition?"

"For your freedom," she answers simply, now a bit confused as well. Didn't everyone already know this? Her involvement had been plastered all over The Prophet.

"You petitioned for me? The fuck, Granger, _why_?" He tries to extract his hands, but Hermione isn't having that, so she clings tighter.

"Because it wasn't fair to try you for attempted crimes the same as the Death Eaters who actually committed them. Look," she says by way of interrupting the direction of the conversation, "I want to know about who you are now as it relates to me. I want to know if you… if you can look at me and not see who we were? Can I stop being Potter's Muggle-born friend? Stop being 'Granger'? Can you just see me as Hermione?"

She's looking at him with open eyes and as sincere an expression as she can muster. This isn't about making him the villain. It's about moving forward and seeing each other in a new light. She's so far past seeing him as the former 'Malfoy', she has trouble even remembering they are the same person. Perhaps that's unhealthy in and of itself, but her point is she is ready for more.

Draco is studying her, confusion evident on his face. "But, you are those things. Why wouldn't I want to see you as Granger? She's fucking brilliant."

Blushing, Hermione glances away, but counters, "She broke your nose."

He chuckles, relaxing slightly and moving to perch on the cushion so they are both sitting at the edge of the seat. "Surely, you know I deserved that and more. Did you think I was holding a grudge?" He sounds quite amused, and Hermione huffs at him.

"I'm being serious, alright? We have a lot between us, and I want to acknowledge it and then ask you where this is going."

His eyes drop for only a moment to her mouth, and his voice follows suit, quiet and deep. "Where do you want us to go, Hermione? I've stayed in England for you; do I need to say I'll follow wherever you lead?"

"I don't want you to go," she admits softly. "I don't want you to leave England and…" She takes a breath, steels herself, and says what she's been thinking all day. "I don't want you to leave tonight. I want you to stay."

Hermione releases his hand with her own and raises it to settle beneath his jaw.

What begins as a soft and romantic gesture evolves, her fingertips skimming down the long line of his neck. His throat bobs as she trails to the hollow, letting her hand rest there. "Will you stay?"

"Fuck, Granger, you're not making this easy." He's breathless and reverent, and it makes her heart find a frantic pace.

Leaning forward, she brushes her lips against his, teasing him with an almost-kiss. "Stay," she whispers again, ready to beg, ready to take risks, but it's unnecessary when he kisses her back, putting an end to her playful and delicate affections.

He kisses her hard, scooping his arm around her waist and burying the other in her hair. His mouth slants over hers, devouring, and thrusting his tongue between her lips. Suddenly, she can't keep up, deliciously overwhelmed, and the feeling couldn't be more welcome. Draco lays her back, covering her body with his own, and she feels him rut instinctually against her. It's nothing like the vague memories of Ron's frantic attentions. She feels starved, pulling him atop her, and nearly biting in her frenzy to kiss him harder, to have more of him for her own.

Hermione runs her hands along the waist of his trousers, pulling at the fabric of his shirt along the way until she can slide her hands beneath. When her palms find the smooth skin of his back, she groans against his mouth. Her fingertips glide from the small of his back to his shoulders, then follow the path back down, nails scratching lightly along the way. She feels him shudder, and he kisses her harder. Encouraged, she repeats, pressing harder into his skin. He grinds into her in response.

She's vibrating with excitement by the time Draco begins to explore as well. His palm rests gently on her breast at first, cautious and polite compared to the bruising nature of his kiss. Hermione arches, urging him to touch her. He is soon running his hands over her, and she is panting in turn, pleading for more.

When she palms him through his trousers, running the length of him with giddy anticipation, he pulls his mouth away from hers to curse in her ear. Hot breath warms her skin, and she shudders at the vehemence with which he calls her name.

"Holy fuck, Granger. Oh, fuck… don't stop."

She giggles, unable to help it, and tilts her head to whisper back, "I'll have to if we're going to advance any further."

"Sweet Merlin… are you sure, Hermione? About this?"

She starts to answer, nodding on instinct, but he doesn't give her the chance to form words, kissing her face, temple to jaw, and murmuring between. "I'm so fucking sorry, so sorry. Please say you forgive me. Promise me… fuck. Swear it, Granger."

Her pace has increased, echoing the desperation she hears behind his words. She releases him only to shove him onto his back to straddle him instead, sealing her mouth over his once more. Her core settles on his lap, and they both moan into each others' mouths. "I swear," she says softly. "I forgive you."

Then he is pushing at his trousers and she is fighting with the button on hers, until they are both laughing and trying in vain to help each other. Finally, Hermione grabs her wand from the small table over Draco's head, and makes quick work of their trousers, leaving them half dressed. With deliberate movement, she slows them, setting her wand to the side, and begins to unbutton his oxford.

"I wanted to do this part myself," she says in a stage whisper. "Some things really are better without magic."

She winks, and he grins back, taking the cue and starting on the buttons of her blouse. She watches his face as he makes his way down, the lace of her undergarments peeking through the gap he creates. Once he has most of the buttons undone, he stops to cup her in both hands, running his thumbs over both peaks and making her shiver.

His fingertips explore the edge of the lace until then they are beneath the satin cups, and Hermione grinds down again. This time, only her knickers and his pants separate them, and the sensation is even more enticing.

She leans down to kiss him again, which he readily accepts as he continues to knead and pet her. One hand slides around her back, and she feels him fumbling with the clasp. She takes pity, deftly flicking it open, and feeling the fabric fall away from her. He quickly tosses it aside and takes one hardened peak into his mouth.

"What if Potter comes home," he mutters, then continues, obviously not terribly concerned.

Hermione has trouble forming sentences with the way his tongue is swirling around her nipple, but she gives it a try, panted breaths and groans breaking her words. "He won't… won't be for awhile. The team always keeps him… late."

"Fantastic," Draco says with a great deal of relief, and she giggles. Always so dramatic… She adores it.

Hermione couldn't say when her knickers join the other half of her matched lavender satin set, but soon Draco is poised at her entrance, gaze locked on hers with intent, and obviously holding back from thrusting inside. "You swore, Granger," he says, and she has chills at the depth of his sincerity. "You have to believe, I'm sorry… for everything. I never want to hurt you again."

Her smile is soft, and she kisses him sweetly, his vulnerability taking her breath away. "I know. I promise, I know." She keeps her eyes locked on his as she positions herself to slowly take him in.

His breath catches as soon as she feels him slide between her lower lips, and then his hand, warm and solid, is on the back of her neck, pulling her face to his, and he kisses her hard as she accepts him fully.

"Oh Gods, Draco." She's so overwhelmed by the relief of it, she could weep. How long has she wanted this? How many nights did he leave her, willing and disappointed? "Why the fuck did we wait so long for this," she breathes out, and Draco releases a chuckle that is half groan.

"I was trying to be a gentleman," he says through gritted teeth as Hermione increases her pace. "I won't make that mistake again. Fuck! Like that, Granger, just like that."

A seductive feeling of power courses through her at the depth of his interest. She watches his face, his eyes squeezed shut, luxuriating in his pleasure as much as her own.

His eyes snap open to find her gazing at him, transfixed, and he reaches a hand to wind into her curls, holding her head in place. "You're so beautiful, Hermione," he tells her, and it takes her breath away. "So fucking beautiful." He starts to match her pace, slamming up into her as she drops down atop him, their rhythm building into something frantic, into careful violence.

She can tell he is close when his hand grips her harder, tugging at her curls, as his other palm flexes on her hip, urging her as his eyes continue to devastate her, the raw want in them as tempting as the act itself.

Hermione's climax builds quickly, falling upon her as rough waves. She arches her back and shudders, her body convulsing as she pants out short desperate screams. When he follows, Draco pulls her down atop him, holding her close and burying his face in her neck.

She's not sure how long she lays like that, gasping for breath and willing her heart to slow lest it escape her chest. Eventually, she feels a sweet kiss on her neck, another following in its wake. Draco nudges her with his nose and continues to lay kisses on her cheek and jaw, finally coaxing her to give him her mouth. She kisses him languidly, running her hands up and down his arms and chest as she does.

"I really was trying to be respectful, you know," he mutters against her skin, and she laughs in response, feeling giddy and sated.

"It's a sweet thought," she allows, "but not necessary. From now on, I expect all of our dates to end like this."

"Just try to keep me away now," he tells her with playful challenge, and she releases tension she hadn't recognized before.

Not a one off, then. Not just curiosity abated.

Hermione turns her head, laying her ear to his heartbeat. "Will you stay tonight?" she asks, suddenly feeling less bold than before. Seducing a wizard is hardly the challenge to a lady's bravery. Asking him to stay takes so much more.

"There's nowhere else I'd imagine spending my night," he says and kisses her curls. She smiles, though he can't see, and hums in reply.

Benedick will have to sleep in the parlour, she would suppose. The other side of her bed will have a different ferret tonight.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, MCal, and to you very lovely readers

Draco wakes the next morning in Granger's bed.

Which is, he would suppose, not all that strange an occurrence. He is only jarred that he can't feel her beside him.

Throughout the night, he had woken only to scoop her closer or pull her onto his chest. She had emitted happy little sighs and hums, placing kisses on his skin as she drifted back to sleep. Now, his searching hands come up empty, and he opens his eyes to scan the room.

There, leaned out the window is his witch, wearing nothing but socks and a Gryffindor Quidditch jersey. He thinks to be jealous of why she's in another wizard's uniform, but is distracted from that feeling with a sense of dread as he hears her half whisper, "Benedick!" out into the morning air.

"What are you doing?" he asks sleepily, though he's perfectly aware.

"Oh!" She starts and pulls her head back inside the room, granting him a smile. A beautiful smile, so open and genuine, it makes the guilt churn in his gut. "I was just calling for Benedick. He doesn't usually stay out all night." Her smile falters into a frown, and it just makes Draco feel worse.

Rising from the bed, he approaches her, hands rubbing down her arms in a comforting manner. "Probably didn't like me in your bed," he tells her, then plants a soft kiss on her lips.

She hums in agreement but counters, "Well, he's going to have to get over that unless he wants to permanently live outside. I expect to see you here often." Hermione gives him a cheeky grin, and he can't help but answer with his own, thinking of being here with her yet again.

"I should probably make my way to mine. The roommates might start to worry."

Lifting an eyebrow at him, she asks, "Won't they just assume you had a date?"

"They've never known me to stay out all night with a witch," he tells her truthfully.

Hermione rises up on her toes to kiss him again: sweet, but promising so much more. "They will have to get used to it, too, then."

"They will," he agrees and scoops her up into his arms as she squeals. He flings them both onto the bed, kissing her all the while, hand travelling beneath the jersey and up her thigh. "Surely, they can wait a bit longer for me to come home," he comments, and she giggles before reclaiming his mouth.

Benedick will have to stay away a bit longer, Draco decides.

It's mid morning before he finally says his goodbye, stalking past Potter on the way to the front door and throwing the git a wink for good measure.

Shortly thereafter, Benedick sneaks back into the room, and Granger cuddles him close, chastising him for his absence. He can scent something like relief on her skin, and he is ashamed to have made her worry, yet proud of the smile he puts on her face.

* * *

Hermione enjoys a pleasant weekend. Her usual fare of reading and walks with Benedick is livened up by furniture shopping with Harry and a delightful lunch with Draco. The latter holds her hand across the table and steals kisses the entire time, making her blush and giggle and wholly devolve into a silly, lovesick witch. It's delightful.

Now, Hermione is settling into her office on Monday morning, hanging her robes and tucking away her bag, a slight smile on her face and a little ache for want of his company. Such a strange circumstance in which she finds herself: falling in fast and deep with Draco Malfoy. Yet, this is her reality, and she has been enjoying it more than she could have imagined. That first day when she, impossibly, ran across him while on her familliar hunt, she never would have believed it would come to anything more.

Hermione feels she owes Benedick countless debts. For rescuing her from her lonely melancholy, of course, but also for putting Draco Malfoy in her path. The little darling will have salmon and blueberries everyday if she has her say.

Her smile fades when she takes a seat at her desk only to look up at a witch standing in her doorway. Impeccable posture, hands clasped just in front of her waist, and one exquisite eyebrow perfectly arched. She's Scarlet O'Hara in a red dress, intimidating, shameless, and bold, and Hermione is befuddled as to why she is at the Ministry. Stranger still, that she is in Hermione's office, and it makes her quite nervous.

"Missus Malfoy," she greets politely. "Can I help you?"

Perhaps the woman is here in some official capacity. Though why she would need the services of the lowest member in any department, especially one as mundane as Muggle Relations, is beyond Hermione. Nerves twist in her stomach at the possibilities.

"Miss Granger, I understand you have been in the company of my son."

Well, straight to it then. Hermione nods, slowly but decisively. Is that why she's come all this way? Some attempt to warn Hermione away from sinking her vixen claws into Narcissa's baby boy?

"Yes, though I am not sure why that is any concern of yours." She tries to sound unconcerned and strong but is afraid she might come across as defiant and petulant. This woman is the quintessential "mother", and it makes Hermione feel a bit like a child.

A slight widening of Narcissa's eyes is not at all what was expected as the response. "No concern of mine?" Her lips thin. "Perhaps you are unaware, though rumours of your brilliance make that a difficult consideration, but my son has been missing since Hogwarts ended their year."

A little confused, Hermione tilts her head to the side. "Missing?"

"Yes, girl," she bites back in reply. " _Missing_. And I would very much like to know why my son, who has deemed it necessary to worry his mother to death, has seen fit to entertain relations with a Mud-Muggle-born on frequent occasions, while avoiding his familial responsibilities."

Hermione's eyes narrow at the woman's near slip, the old slur dangerously close to spilling from her painted lips. "I appreciate your ultimate word choice, Missus Malfoy. With your probation so newly ended and your husband going back to trial, perhaps just a bit more care is in order."

They stare each other down for a moment, and Hermione is nearly certain she will need to call the Aurors to take the witch away.

Finally, Narcissa's posture slides, an invisible weight sloughed off her shoulders like a robe. "Apologies, Miss Granger. I had intended a more civil conference. I am afraid there is little civility within me when concerned for my son."

"Am I such a threat to him?"

Narcissa surprises her with a laugh and flippant wave of her hand. "No, no. Of course not. I am concerned because he has been... less than forthcoming regarding his plans. Your contact with him is a surprise more due to your location. We were certain he had left England entirely. He certainly led us to believe as much."

Hermione is reminded of Draco's intended departure; a fact she has very much been trying to forget and, perhaps overly hopeful, presume is no longer in the cards. "He had mentioned that he would be travelling," she reveals. No reason to hide a truth Narcissa already knew. "I believe he delayed his plans."

Narcissa looks her over, seeming to hesitate on her next question and studying the look on Hermione's face. "To spend time with you?"

"In part, perhaps," she admits, though Hermione has often wondered if he truly stayed for her, or if those had been pretty words, poetry, in his initial efforts to woo her.

"I see."

Another silence, another few beats of her heart. What does this woman want with her?

"Perhaps, Miss Granger, you would be so kind as to give him a message? Since he does not see fit to heed my owls nor my requests for a visit."

Hermione answers quickly, relieved at such a simple request. "Of course. Would you like a parchment?"

"That will not be necessary. I have confidence you will remember. Please tell him that The Malfoy family will likely not survive the next winter, and I would very much like him to come home. For me."

Narcissa turns on her heel and stalks away, leaving Hermione to gape after her.

* * *

That evening, Hermione brings up her unlikely encounter in what she hopes is a casual way, still unsure how serious she should take the cryptic message she is about to deliver.

"I saw your mother today."

By the clatter of Draco's spoon, perhaps she was not so casual.

"My mother?" he asks, confusion and wariness battling for his features. "Where?"

"At the Ministry," she answers, dabbing her mouth with the napkin from her lap. She had received an owl from Draco in the late afternoon, asking her to an impromptu dinner. She was, of course, more than happy to accept. The news about his mother, however, she fears will put a damper on their evening.

"She heard we were seen together," Hermione explains, only now realizing she hadn't asked Narcissa where she had heard this bit of gossip. Spending most of their time in Muggle London, she's curious about that herself.

"I suppose she made some thinly veiled threats about your involvement with me," he asks, face tight and posture stiff with tension. Hermione realizes there will be no casual conversation to be had. Not if this is his reaction to a mere mention of his family.

"No, nothing like that," she assures him. "Though, she was surprised that you're still in the country."

Draco looks away, jaw clenched. "Draco? Did you not want her to know you hadn't left for your trip?"

"The less my mother knows, the less my father knows, and that can only be to my benefit." He is still refusing to meet her eye, and Hermione reaches for his hand across the table.

"Hey." Waiting until he has turned his face toward her, she gives his hand a caress, her thumb over his knuckles with affection. "I don't mean to pry," she says, knowing full well any pursuit of the conversation is hardly her business. "If you prefer not to discuss it, I understand."

Draco sighs, turning his hand to hold hers more firmly. "It's fine. I imagine you would wonder why my mother would presume me missing when I've been right here in London."

"I am curious," she admits. "But if you don't want to tell me..."

"It's fine. You knew I had planned to travel, I just never shared with anyone else when I changed my plans."

"Just me and your roommates?" she clarifies, still confused as to why he would not want his mother to know. He seems to flinch a little, then recover. Perhaps she sounds too judgmental?

"One reason I was leaving, you are already aware. I didn't want to stay here after the war; after choosing the wrong side. The other reason, though, was my father. I've done nothing but try to please him for my entire life, and look at the state of things. I didn't want him to pull me into the family business or some new scheme to right our name in the public eye." He looks away again, far off into nothing, and muses, "But I have trouble telling my father 'no', so, in Slytherin fashion, I ran." Locking eyes with hers, he challenges, "I suppose you think it cowardly?"

Hermione shakes her head. "No. You are still standing up for your choices, just not in maybe the most direct way. Refusing to return home was a bold move. I imagine, your family being as traditional as they are, it was expected you would live in the Manor and start producing heirs."

He chuckles, and she is glad to see him relax. Unfortunately, there is more to come.

"She gave me a message for you," Hermione interjects before he can leave the topic.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Of course she did. Does she want me to submit myself to my father's judgement? Perhaps I need to add the Malfoy crest to my right arm?"

Hermione shifts in her seat, not fond of his tone. He sounds angry in a way she hasn't heard from him since before they became whatever it is they are now.

"She said to tell you that the Malfoy family might not last the winter, and that she'd like you to come home. Draco, do you think everything is alright?"

He shakes his head in disgust. "I'm sure it's nothing as dire as she would have you believe. My mother has a penchant for the dramatic and wields guilt better than her wand."

Hermione snickers at that, thinking of her own mother. Jean Granger had been a master at using guilt for results. She wonders idly if Monica Wilkins does the same.

Her parents are a sober thought as always, and she clears her throat. "Even still, since you are still here… shouldn't you at least talk to her?"

Draco's lips thin, and he takes a deep breath that flares his nostrils and inflates his chest. He relents in part, allowing that he will consider it.

"But only _consider_ ," he adds quickly. "And if my mother bothers you again, please keep me informed."

"Oh, really it wasn't a bother-"

"It will be, eventually," he interrupts. "I really must apologize in advance. If I don't give in to her requests, I fear you may suffer for it." He plucks her hand from the table and brings it to his lips. "Just another infraction for which you must forgive me. I hope you're not keeping track, Granger."

He says it like a lark, but there is a sadness in his eyes, an expression she can find in kinship with her face, unguarded, in the mirror. Her poor wizard… he carries so much guilt, and she can only imagine the terrible things he saw during the war.

"No more talk of that, then. You'll make the right decision, whatever that is."

He nods, still looking far away, so she half stands and leans across the table, taking his face in the cups of her palms. "Would you like to come home with me?" she asks, softly, and his expression immediately clears.

"You'll spoil me, witch. I'll never want to leave you."

"Then don't," she counters, and urges him to rise to his feet. They are halfway to the door when she turns and waggles a finger at him. "But I have to work tomorrow, so I need to be asleep by ten."

He leers at her, equal parts devilish and boyish, and she swoons a little inside. "Plenty of time. Let's not dawdle, though."

Grabbing her hand, he out paces her and pulls her down the block until they can Apparate, his mouth slanting over hers the moment they enter Grimmauld.

"Oi! Not here, you two."

Hermione pulls away and looks over her shoulder only to find Harry looking at her, disgusted and horrified, a cup of tea paused half way to his lips. She blushes scarlet. "Sorry, Harry. I'll just… see you in the morning."

Harry gives her a grimace that turns darker when his eyes land on Draco. In true Malfoy fashion, she watches her wizard wink at her friend, then feels his palm on her arse as they climb the steps. "Maybe you living with Potter has its perks. Did you see that lovely shade of puce he just went?"

Perhaps Draco is laying it on a little thick, and she will be grovelling to Harry come morning, but Hermione giggles all the way to her room.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued love and adoration. Big cyber hugs to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal, and to all of you wonderful people who are reading this

Draco would suppose he could not keep up this charade forever. He had just hoped he would have more time before the outside world crashed down on him.

As careful as he has been, Narcissa Malfoy has eyes everywhere, perhaps more so than his father.

It is just after ten, and Draco has been reluctant to leave Hermione's side. She has seemed equally disappointed that the night has disappeared so quickly and allowed him to stall his departure with just one more kiss, one more comment or conversation. They are standing at the front door of Grimmauld, Draco feeling relieved that Potter seems to have retired to his rooms. In small doses, it might be fun to rile the wanker, but he would always prefer a more intimate end to the evening.

"If you want me to come with you," Hermione is saying, hesitant and sweet, "I would, you know. That is, I doubt your mother would be thrilled to see me, but if you didn't want to go alone…"

Draco takes a breath, fully aware she is trying to be helpful, but his parents bring out a very bitter side to his personality. "I've not decided yet if I'll see her," he says, clipped and impatient, regardless of his efforts to be polite.

She nods and looks away, posture changing to one of unease.

"I appreciate the offer, though, Granger. Really." She glances up at him, and he gives her a smile. "I can't imagine ever declining to have you with me; it's only that I don't know if I'm ready to face her."

"Right. I understand, just…" He searches her face, wondering why she has faltered. Has he made her upset? He did not mean to sound angry with her and regrets his tone. When she continues, it seems not everything is about him, and she has other concerns. "I just know that family is important. No matter what they've done, they are your parents. And your mother obviously loves you very much."

Draco is horrified to see tears standing in her eyes. "Granger?"

He reaches for her, but she waves it away with an embarrassed smile and small laugh. "It's fine. I tend to get emotional at the strangest times."

"Not so strange," he comments, understanding that family is a tough subject for his witch.

"I just didn't realize what it would be like to be alone," she admits softly. "You've probably put it together, it's not precisely a secret, but my parents don't know me. I'm glad they're safe, of course; grateful even. But making them forget me was the only way I could imagine that could happen. It's been hard," she concludes so very softly, "knowing I don't have any family left."

Without a word, Draco pulls her to him. She releases one pent up sob into his chest, then goes quiet as they stand, arms wrapped tightly around one another.

"You have Potter," he says, and it costs Draco a lot. "And, if it's quite alright with you, you have me."

Hermione leans away only to drag his face to hers and kiss him soundly. She whispers against his lips, "How do you always know what times say?"

If he's honest, the answer to that would be that he has insider information from a mustelid, but that's not exactly appropriate.

"Can I see you for lunch tomorrow?" He knows Potter to be otherwise occupied and assumes she has no other plans. As expected, she nods.

"I'd like that."

"And… I'll think about what you said. About my mother. I suppose it might be important if she sought you out to pass along the information. Narcissa Malfoy is careful to ask a favour of anyone, lest she accumulate debt."

Chuckling, Hermione wipes at her eyes and steps back into the house, leaving Draco on the step. "I'll keep that in mind in case I need any information on you. Perhaps some embarrassing photos of you from childhood."

He groans at that, but is thrilled to see a smile on her face. "Tomorrow then. Good night."

"Good night, Draco." She gives him a sweet smile as she closes the door.

Wasting no time, Draco transforms in a blind alley and scurries up the tree into Granger's room. He manages to settle himself before she enters, making it appear perhaps he's been here for some time.

"Oh, Benedick, there you are. You know, it would do you well to get used to Draco. I don't see him being out of my life anytime soon."

Hermione lifts him and holds him up to her shoulder, idly scratching at his head and back. "You might get on really well, you know. Then again," she muses, "perhaps it's for the best you make yourself scarce when he's here. We certainly don't need an audience for what we get up to."

She giggles and puts him down, undoing the buttons on her blouse. Since he's already seen her himself, with her express permission no less, he doesn't feel as inclined to look away. Her fingers still halfway down, and she motions for him to spin around. "Come on, darling, you know the drill." And so he complies. It's a shame he made her so accustomed to his intelligence early on, but he will have a chance to see her again.

Finally, he feels the bed shift, and Hermione slips in beside him, throwing an arm around his torso and hugging him to her chest.

"I really like him, you know," she whispers. "I hope he feels the same, because the idea of him leaving is getting very hard for me."

_Me too_ , he thinks, no closer to a solution to this mess than ever, but somehow happy in spite of it all.

* * *

Days pass, and Draco does a capital job of ignoring the situation with his mother. If Granger has any opinions on the whole affair, she is keeping her counsel.

Two days ago, he finally sent his mother an owl, saying his travel plans had been interrupted, but that he still has no intention of returning to the Manor nor following the path that has been expected of him. He will not submit to a pureblood arranged union, he will not head Malfoy Industries, and he will absolutely not live in the place where his new lover was tortured, where he saw people crucio'd and beaten and literally _eaten by a bloody snake_.

He had underlined that last bit with a red-inked quill.

Today, he returns to the owl post to see if his mother has replied.

"Evening, Mister Malfoy." Harold greets him with his usual cheer. The man had stopped being afraid of him after a few sickle-tipped transactions.

It's late, and Draco just left Granger, sneaking out as Benedick from her bed into the inky night, moon obscured by clouds.

"Harold," he greets with a nod. "Anything for me today?"

"Aye. Same as always. That same nasty owl what always brings most yer messages."

Draco smiles. That would be Cronus, silly bird. Draco used to feed him treats when he was small, and the owl, though a cantankerous thing, was so gentle with Draco's little fingers. He misses him.

Draco accepts the missive from Harold and tosses a few extra sickles on the counter. "Treats, for that bird," he explains. "He'll be much less agitated."

"Yes, sir, I'll take care of him," Harold agrees with an easy smile, and Draco makes his way to the door, lifting his hood to obscure his face.

Unfortunately, he doesn't see the figure on their way in and shoulder checks the wizard coming through the doorway.

"Oi, watch where you're-"

The man stops, eyeing the platinum fringe just visible under Draco's hood, noting his features.

Draco knows him. Not well, of course, but enough to realize the wizard knows him, too. A contemporary of Lucius, he was sometimes invited to functions at the Manor in the days before Voldemort when the functions didn't center around torture and death. Mumbling an apology, Draco tries to step around, but the wizard shadows his side step, intent on confrontation.

"Thought you'd left," the man sneers, venom dripping from every word. "Heard you ran off, got yourself lost or murdered." He gives Draco a once over, assessing and unwelcome. "Pity," he adds boldly, then makes his way out into the post, bumping him roughly once again.

Shaking by the time he is back in Hermione's neighborhood, Draco's fingers can hardly open the scroll. He takes a seat on a stone step a block away from Potter's house, and reads, trying to forget the altercation replaying in his mind.

_Draco,_

_I understand your hesitance, however I must beseech you to reconsider. It is vital to our family that we be together, to support one another. If you mean to stay in England, please grant me a moment with my husband and son. You need not announce yourself; we are always here._

_With affection,_

_Mother_

Excellent. Just bloody great. How is he supposed to deny her this? All Draco wanted was a little peace. A quiet few years to heal and find out who he wants to be. If his experience at the post, only moments ago, is any indication, he had the right of it when he decided to leave.

Wizarding Britain, at large, does not want him here. Living as Granger's familiar had been a reasonable facsimile to leaving the country, but now, trying to live this dual life, he is bound to be more and more exposed to the public eye.

_For what_ , he asks himself, _a dalliance with Granger_? And then immediately feels like a complete cad. She's not a dalliance, and he knows it. She's worth staying for, worth fighting for. This evening was just a stark reminder of what it is he will be fighting.

And now, throwing his mother into the mix, he is pulled even harder to stay and build ties that hold him down. Her doom-ridden message to Granger had been dramatic, yet the simple plea to have her family together is much more effective. The witch risked everything for him, lied to a serpentine demi-God, if only so she might reach Draco and try to protect him. No one has ever loved him like his mother, and yet he has vanished, leaving her to worry as to his circumstances.

Fucking fuck, he's going to the Manor. He knows this, has known it would be inevitable, but had hoped to stay hidden in his quiet paradise only a little longer.

Draco collects himself and makes his way to Potter's home, transforming just outside the garden with a bit less care than usual and scrambling through the gate and up his tree.

Inside, Granger is still sleeping, and he nestles in beside her, letting out a deep, relieved breath and closing his eyes.

"Where have you been?" she mumbles, relief in her words and her scent. "Should start barring that window," she adds in a sleepy little slur, then drifts back to sleep.

Great. Something else to worry about.

* * *

Hermione is a bit despondent the next morning, and she is fully aware as to why.

The past few weeks with Draco, starting her new career, she has been very successful in finding some happiness. But today is her parents' wedding anniversary, and somewhere in Australia, the Wilkins are celebrating without her.

"Morning, Hermione."

She looks up as Harry enters the room, her coffee cold in front of her. Benedick is ignoring his breakfast this morning, instead cuddled in her lap. She isn't sure why he's so affectionate today, but today of all days, she's grateful.

"Morning, Harry." She gives him a quick once over. "Quidditch today?"

Preparing a cup of tea in a Muggle travel container, he confirms, "Yeah, thought we might get some play in while we were all free."

She lifts a brow in question. "Even Ron?"

Harry looks a bit uncomfortable and hesitates before muttering, "Lavender is away for the weekend."

Ah. Lavender. _Well, he is free to make all the mistakes he likes_ , she thinks primly. So what if he's gone running back to the girl he broke her heart with? Hermione has her own delicious affair.

"Well, have a nice day," she says back, trying to sound even and unaffected. It's certainly not that she is pining for Ron. Maybe it's just how different her life is from where she had imagined. Two years ago, maybe less, she had expected to spend a day like today moved back home with her family, maybe dating Ron and showing him what fun things the Muggle world has to offer, inviting him to a family celebration for her parents' twenty-fifth year together, meanwhile having just started her career at the top end of the Ministry, fast-tracked for her intellect and dedication.

Instead, she is spending today alone, taking advantage of the hospitality of her only uncomplicated friendship. Her parents are lost to her; her job, while she is enjoying it, is years from affecting any large change in policy. Draco is scheduled for their usual brunch tomorrow, but they have no plans today.

Today will just be Hermione and Benedick. She pulls him a bit closer and kisses the top of his head.

Harry is watching her with a bit of concern. She straightens and puts on a smile. The last thing she needs is to make Harry worry. He might try to do something noble like stay in with her, and Hermione doesn't need the responsibility of that guilt on top of everything.

"It's their anniversary?" he asks, eyeing her closely.

"It is. At least they can spend it together," she adds, grasping the silver lining and holding tight.

"Merlin, Hermione… Do you want to come with me?" he asks, and it's terribly sweet of him.

She laughs a little, and says, emphatic, "No, not really. Thanks, though. I appreciate the invitation." Her smile is a little more genuine, touched as she is by his care.

Harry relaxes a bit, and she thinks she pulled off 'normal' pretty well. He bids her a good day, telling her he may be late, the pub is likely to call their name after the game.

Hermione shoos him away, keeping the smile bright on her face until he's gone.

"Well," she says, looking down at Benedick to find him watching her, "just you and me, then. Shall we go for a walk, darling?"

The marten hops down and trots to the door, seeming to be ready to start their day. She smiles and follows his lead.

* * *

Draco spends the day being cuddled and mauled and really doesn't mind at all. He had been, once again, glamoured into a small dog and accompanied Hermione to the Muggle park only a short walk away. He has not been chased by some rabid ball of fur and fleas this time, thank Merlin, and overall it is uneventful.

His witch is wistful, at best, spending her day eyeing older couples and sniffling. She smiles and tilts her face to the sun, but she is lost in her melancholy thoughts, idly scratching at Draco's head.

As much as he enjoys her company, it's dreadful being unable to comfort her. He wishes, more than once, that she had left Benedick at Grimmauld so Draco could surprise her with an appearance.

It's late afternoon by the time they return home, and he finally finds an opening. Granger goes through the motions of putting out his midday meal, carefully cubing some salmon and serving it alongside a small pile of beech nuts.

"I've been reading a bit. I understand you should enjoy these… and they have some nice protein for you." She smiles at him, and he takes one of the nuts in his mouth, nibbling at one as she watches. After a moment, Draco taking another bite, salmon this time, she pets him once and heads toward the kitchen door. "Enjoy, love. I think I might have a bit of a lie down."

Draco is celebrating inside, scarfing the salmon and nuts as best he can. Once he hears the creak of the steps, a sure sign she has ascended, he makes his way to the front door, transforms, and slips out. Granger has been so fucking despondent all day, and he can't believe Potter left her alone. He is about ready to take back all the semi-generous thoughts he's had about the wizard and return to a full on "Potter is a cock" mentality.

But for now, thoughts of Potter can wait. Draco has a witch to cheer, and he'll be damned if she spends the rest of her Saturday alone and sad.

Hermione Granger is about the kindest person Draco has ever met. How is she not flush with social engagements? Wizards lined up at her door?

Alright, yes, so she's a bit of a swot, but one can hardly fault her for being the smartest person in the room. Aware of his own hypocrisy, of how often he had belittled her, Draco can no longer imagine why anyone wouldn't find her irresistible. He certainly does.

He waits a while, allowing her time to rest. Granger had risen early today and immediately set about her very full schedule of depressive self-reflection. She made a hard choice and is left alone to carry the burden of the fallout. After all that she has given him, the forgiveness and affection, Draco is more than ready to pay the debt and give back to her in turn.

And, of course, it's more than that. The reality is, he misses her. Seeing her in his marten form for days on end, unable to laugh with her, to see her smile at him and take his hand, to touch her intimately and luxuriate in the effects, it is sweet torture.

It is just gone five in the afternoon when he returns. He is starting to run out of ideas as to new ways to transfigure his clothing before he sees her. Today, he has chosen a simple ensemble of black trousers and a burgundy oxford. He thinks his Gryffindor deserves a little red in her life today.

He knocks and silently prays to Merlin, Circe, and Salazar himself that Potter is still out with his team. The last thing Draco needs is a confrontation with that tosser.

When it's Granger, not Potter the Wonder Saint, Draco smiles, broad and warm. He must be doing something right, because the grin on her face is the sunniest he's seen all day.

"Draco…-Wait." She gives pause, lips turning down into a slight frown. "We didn't have plans, did we?"

He shakes his head, not wanting her to feel as though she's wronged him. "Not at all. I only find that I wish we had," he clarifies, offering a winning grin, and her own smile returns.

"Come in, then," she invites, sweeping her arm toward the interior of the house. "Harry's out, so it's just me. I was going to order some take away. Maybe watch a Muggle film." She gives herself a once over and forms a sheepish grin. "I'm hardly dressed to go out."

Draco has been waiting all day to see her, truly see her. He steps into her space, cupping his palms over her shoulders then running firm fingertips down her arms. "You look beautiful," he tells her, and he means it. Hair mussed from her kip, baggy, casual clothes. This is his Hermione, the one who coos at a lost marten and worries her lip while she reads. He kisses her and pours relief through his touch..

When he pulls away, she keeps her eyes closed a moment longer, savoring, and smiles up at him. "So take away and some Muggle drivel does it for you then?"

He laughs a little but corrects her. " _You_ 'do it for me', Granger. But I'll take the rest if it means you won't mind me barging in on your evening."

Her expression falters. If he wasn't aware of her fragile state, he might have missed it. She widens her smile and tells him that, of course, he's more than welcome, and sets out the task of explaining Muggles films and televisions. Of course, Draco, as Benedick, is very well versed, but he nods politely and helps her choose something to watch.

* * *

Tonight is different. Tonight, instead of curled into a ball on her blanket covered lap, Draco is leaned against the armrest of the sofa, Hermione's hair tickling his chin. Empty food containers decorate the low table in front of their legs, and the room is dark save for the flickering of the screen.

Potter has yet to return, and they have made it through two of her Muggle stories. The second has just ended, and Hermione is breathing evenly and deep on his chest. She's been asleep for some time, and Draco has been more than happy to lay with her as she does. However, after almost four hours of hardly moving, his left arm seems to be falling asleep as well.

Draco shifts, and Granger hums, jostled awake. "Sorry," he whispers, kissing her hair. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, no… it's fine," she finishes on a yawn. "I certainly didn't mean to drift off. It's just been a long day," she admits. Draco hasn't pushed, hasn't asked for any reason when she hinted at her down mood, but wonders if perhaps she might need to voice it.

"You didn't seem quite yourself when I arrived," he says, trying not to be obvious. She turns her head to look up at him, and he cups her cheek. "Did something happen?"

She sniffles once, a sound Benedick heard a lot today, and Draco steels himself. "Today was my parents' wedding anniversary," she says softly. "Twenty-five years as the Grangers. Or it would have been." Her eyes go down, and he feels a tear hit the side of his palm.

"I'm so sorry, Granger," he tells her, meaning it more than he can say, and pulls her against him until her cheek is laid back against his chest. She sniffles a few more times, then pulls away and sits up, taking a cleansing breath and looking a bit more put together.

"Thank you for coming here today. I didn't know what to do with myself. Even just admitting it out loud feels so much better. This… _You_ are _exactly_ what I needed, Draco."

Draco leans forward to press his lips against hers again, a bit more purpose, not quite as soft. "You're always what I need," he says, then pillows her lip, again and again, finally flicking his tongue out to taste.

The kiss escalates into more, into everything. Draco allows Hermione to make all the moves, to take what she needs. When she reaches for his trousers and pushes them down his legs, he only helps her by lifting from the sofa so she can shimmy them down. She starts to lower herself to her knees, to take him in her mouth, but he stops her. She looks at him in question, perhaps slightly hurt.

"Not tonight," he tells her, though he's fantasized of it enough times. "I want to see your face. I want to look at you." He punctuates the comment, taking her face between his palms and holding her gaze. He doesn't let go, barely blinks, as she climbs atop him, lowering herself onto him. They both gasp, and her hands reach up to wrap around his wrists lying across the armrest over his head. She holds him in place as she keeps her gaze trained upon his own.

There is purpose in this coupling that eclipses anything they've shared before. Movements careful and rhythmic, they are quiet, only breathing hard in sync with the other. They do not call each others' names or beg or demand. There are no whispered pleas or filthy commands for more. There will be other occasions for those things if Draco has his say, but tonight is about nothing but them, and he hopes to express in the firmness of his hand on her neck, in the tense set of his jaw, that she is everything in this moment and more than he deserves.

Her orgasm seems to take her by surprise, making her body shudder. A look, almost pained in its intensity, makes a masterpiece of her beautiful face. Draco follows her, pulling her down to rest their foreheads together as he empties himself into her, and her tremors begin to taper off.

"Will you stay?" she asks, speaking for the first time since this began.

Draco pulls back to look at her, and, for the first time all day, doesn't see the same sorrow hiding behind her eyes. "Of course," he answers. "That marten of yours will have to sleep in the garden," he adds with a smirk, and she laughs in a way that makes his heart feel full.

"You know, some day, you two will have to learn to share."

"I suppose if there's love enough in your heart for both of us, we will have to do just that." Draco freezes, realizing what he's said. How fucking presumptuous… He eyes her cautiously, wondering if she will comment, hoping and dreading if she does.

After a short pause, she just says, "My heart had a place just waiting for you, Draco. Benedick's place was already secure."

He considers her, head falling to the side. It's not quite a declaration, but it feels they are close, on the cusp of something wholly devastating that will likely drag him to a hell of his own making, but all he can do is grin back and comment, "I think maybe I've been saving mine for you."

When Potter arrives past midnight, they are asleep on the sofa, Hermione still without her trousers, long baggy shirt her only modesty, and Draco without his oxford. His eye cracks open after a blanket is dropped over Hermione's legs, and he watches as Potter climbs the stairs, shaking his messy-haired head.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my team once again! Lightofevolution, In Dreams, and Mcal! Thank you to all of you reading as well!

Ultimately, Draco decides he will grant his mother's wish and visit her at the Manor. He further decides, he would prefer to go alone.

Whatever dramatics his mother has planned, whatever scheme or plot or operatic nonsense she has dreamed up to trap him back into his life, he does not need the added strain of explaining to his family that Hermione Granger is the object of his most ardent affection. He will not spend the afternoon defending her or listening as they belittle her or question his choices. This meeting will only be about the Malfoy family and the future he sees for himself in regards to his heritage. Hermione need not subject herself to the scorn and bigotry, nor dredge up memories of her previous time at the Manor.

As such, he waits until nearly the end of the week, knowing his witch will be at the Ministry for the day, lunch plans with Potter sure to keep her too busy for any surprise visits to Benedick. It is half eleven when he reaches the gate, hand poised to knock when it swings open with considerable force.

"Master Draco!"

He smiles at the elf, nodding his greeting. "Pipsy."

With no warning and much to Draco's dismay, Pipsy's large, dark eyes start to water. "Pipsy tells Mistress that Master Draco will return to his family. Pipsy knows Master loves Mistress very much."

"Oh for the love of-" Draco sighs, pinching his nose. Has his mother been dragging herself about the Manor, telling any creature who might listen that she has been forsaken? Ridiculous, dramatic, witch… "Please let Mother know that I've arrived. Perhaps we could have a visit in the solarium?"

He knows he will have only moments once the elf leaves before Narcissa Malfoy is sweeping across the house to equal parts smother and chastise her darling boy. Fuck, this is miserable. He chose the solarium because of its proximity to the entry hall. Depending on her theatrics, he can make a fairly easy retreat.

Noddling furiously, the elf agrees, "Oh, yes, Master. Splendid! Pipsy will alert Mistress. The solarium is one of the most preserved room!"

_An odd comment_ , Draco thinks.

Stepping over the threshold, Draco has his first glance at the house. From the exterior, it seemed that the vines were a bit more unwieldy than usual, the grounds not quite as trimmed. From the interior, things are much more troubling. In all his years as a privileged socialite, he never found their ancestral home to be anything but picturesque. Now, there are corners of paper peeled from the walls, rough and chipped patches on the woodwork and banisters. This is not renovations in any form Draco has ever seen. He casts a quick charm at the banister along their grand staircase, only for the magic to feel as though it rejects him, the paint none improved.

He is studying the trims and walls, a growing sense of unease twisting his gut as he finds crumbling mortar and cracked finishes. He peers into the receiving room to his left to find a segment of moulding has broken off and crumbled onto a parlor chair. He's gaping at it, stunned his parents would allow this disorder, when not only his mother, but the Malfoy patriarch walks briskly to greet him.

"Son, you have arrived." Lucius looks wan at best, pale and drawn. Too thin and hair lacking any luster. He looks nearly as haggard as he had under Voldemort's rule, and he had been little more than a walking corpse at that time.

Seeing his father, hearing his familiar and dreaded voice, Draco momentarily forgets the state of the Manor. "Mother. Father. I read your missives." He holds his arms away from his body, presenting himself for inspection in a somewhat sarcastic fashion. "As you can see, I'm quite alright. No reason for concern. I'm sure Cronus is quite tired of delivering so many letters."

"You," his father says, a shadow of his old pride creeping into his tone, "would do well to learn humility." When Draco starts to interject, Lucius continues, asking, "Had you not considered your mother had a reason for her insistence? Could you not detect her urgency?"

That gives Draco pause, glancing between his parents and noticing the strain to Narcissa's usually placid face. "What's happened?" he asks, fearing the worst. "You're not… ill?" he questions her directly, bracing.

"No, my dragon. I am well," she answers and approaches him cautiously, arms extended to receive him. Unable to deny her his affection, Draco embraces her, relieved. Over her shoulder, Lucius watches the exchange patiently.

Pulling away, Draco places his hands on her shoulders, studying her face for clues as to the situation. "Mother, I know our coffers have suffered, but I had thought them sufficient to sustain you and the Manor…" He sweeps his arm wide, alluding to the state of their ancestral home.

"Our gold is not the reason for the state of the family seat," Lucius answers for her. Narcissa nods at Draco, and gestures for her husband to continue.

"There has always been a Malfoy to head the house. An heir. The Manor is built to survive the ages, magic suffused to slow the effects of time." He steps slowly forward, joining his wife and son in a tighter circle. "But it draws from the family, from blood, and the Ministry has stemmed my magic. The blood wards no longer recognize me as the patriarch."

He takes a deep breath and levels his son with a look. "The Manor is rejecting us, Draco. The damage will only increase until it collapses around us. The ceiling in the main dining room has already fallen through."

Looking around at the crumbling supports and peeling paint, Draco stares back at his father. "Why didn't you say anything? Mother has been owling for ages."

Lucius sneers and answers as though it's obvious. "The Ministry is reading our missives, tracking our owls. The last thing we needed was some undersecretary taking it upon himself to sweep for Dark curses."

"This curse isn't fucking Dark enough for you?" Draco bites back. "What is this, if not Dark?"

"It's _familial_ ," his father answers in his condescending drawl. "And family business is no concern of the Ministry. It has been that way for centuries," he adds, puffed up with his own worth. Draco thinks it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard.

"So, instead, you would stay here." He gestures to the room around them, a bit of plaster dropping to the floor punctuating his point. "Wait in your mausoleum for me to come home?" His father only raises a brow in response, and Draco has his answer.

"You can't leave," Draco finally whispers, remembering the situation and realizing why his mother has been so desperately seeking a change to Lucius' sentence. "You realize the Ministry would move you if they knew the home was uninhabitable? This house will fall apart around you, and you would stay here, lost in the rubble. Are you mad?"

"I am a _Malfoy_ ," Lucius replies. "Something I tried to instill within you as well, but it seems you are lacking in that regard. Have you no pride?"

Draco snorts. "Fucking pride… In what? This crypt you're buried alive in? Your affiliations during the war? I'll never be free of you. _This_ is why I wanted to leave England, to escape being buried alive along side you." He spits out the last with venom, angry all over again at his namesake, his inheritance.

Lucius looks back with narrowed eyes and starts to speak but is interrupted by a harsh whisper to Draco's left.

"That is _enough_. You two peacocks have said quite enough and plenty to regret." Narcissa turns her body to Draco, smoothing her features into something less wrathful. "Draco, darling, I'm so glad you've come. You look well. Something in your life agrees with you."

They both know what she means, and Draco looks away with a faint stain of pink to his skin.

"Yes. Potter's Muggle girl," Lucius intones, breaking the momentary peace.

"She's not Potter's anything," he growls. "She's _mine_. And she's a witch, Father, lest you've forgotten that she helped destroy your master."

"Draco!"

" _Your_ master as well if you recall," Lucius returns with a nasty smile.

"Lucius!"

"And who's fault was that? You let him brand me!" Draco clenches his fists at his side, both he and his father ignoring Narcissa's increasingly frantic bids to interrupt them.

"Both of you, stop this!"

Lucius sputters some denial or another, but Draco can't even hear him, can't process the words. He lets out a soft yell of frustration, reliving it all, his whole wretched life in a blink.

"He marked me like cattle, and you just stood by and allowed it. Your own _son_. Served me up like a fucking sacrifice," he adds with disgust. "Do you know what he used to do to me? Were you struck deaf to my screaming when he crucio'd me?"

"Draco, your father did his best for this family-"

He turns wide eyes on his mother, disbelief momentarily silencing him. "You're _defending_ him? What, you couldn't hear me begging either? Didn't hear your sister cackling at Him to keep going?"

Draco shakes his head, his ire running its course and leaving him feeling empty, drained. No one speaks for a long time.

"For what it may be worth," Lucius finally says, "I had not intended for you to join the ranks. We protested, but the Dark Lord-"

"Tom. You can call him fucking _Tom_ because that was his name," Draco spits out. "His common, uncouth, Muggle name."

Unfazed, Lucius continues. "He would not hear our concerns, and we paid for questioning his judgement."

Draco knows what that means. He can't look at his mother, because he knows she suffered the torture curse nearly as often as he felt the licks of it. This is a battle that no one can win. It's already fought and lost. "You never should have joined him," he finally says, speaking to the ground between them.

"No, I should not," Lucius agrees, and it's the closest to understanding they may ever reach.

"Draco," Narcissa tries, gently. "Draco, please come and sit. We will tell you about the spell that rules the house, and, if you would be so forgiving, perhaps you would complete the ritual so the house will recognize you?"

He looks at her warily, and she seems to know the question he's yet to ask. "It is not as though you will not be bound here at all times. You can travel or visit your Miss Granger." Lucius scoffs beside her, but they ignore him and his opinions, which Draco hopes to say is the new norm. "However, I would much appreciate if you might take tea with me on occasion?" She looks at him with hope and a more open countenance than that to which he is accustomed.

With a nod, he agrees at least to that. "I can do tea," he says, and she smiles at him in turn.

"Yes, let's all enjoy a drop of Earl Grey while the Manor deteriorates one more day," Lucius interjects, and Draco nearly chuckles as his mother rolls her eyes.

"He's just impossible these days," she says and turns to glide from the room.

Draco looks back at his father, thin and worn, but still standing straight; the king of his crumbling castle. Finding he has no words for the man, he shakes his head and follows his mother to the solarium, Lucius' uneven steps only moments behind.

* * *

Tea is fairly horrid.

Not that Pipsy serves anything less than the most perfect cup in all of England, but the conversation centers around Narcissa digging none too subtly for information on Granger while Lucius tosses out biting remarks in regards to her hair, her temperament ("She set Severus on fire, son."), and her affiliations. The only saving grace, for which Draco is thankful, is that nothing is said as to her heritage. Perhaps his father can learn, after all.

In the cavernous halls of the Manor, a clock strikes the hour, and Draco starts. The day has gotten away from him, and now is time to take his leave.

He stands, trying not to rush as much as he feels. It has somehow gone three in the afternoon, and Potter sometimes is earlier to arrive than Granger.

"I'm afraid I need to be off," he tells them, his mother's face showing obvious disappointment.

"Oh, Draco darling, must you? It feels like I've not seen you in ages." She looks him over, wringing her hands. "Why, you're practically grown. Where is my darling little boy."

It's typical maternal gibberish, and Draco tries very hard not to say uncharitable things like 'he didn't survive a war fought too young' or 'in the belly of a beast; he withered away when he watched a woman devoured on his dining table.' Instead, he hums in reply, only commenting, "We all must grow up, Mother."

Lucius stands along with his family, looking anxious. "And the ritual? You will take your family seat, yes? Do your duty by myself and your mother?" He sounds as though he is trying for stern, but there is a waver in his voice.

Draco's lips thin, but he doesn't allow his ire to overtake him. "I want to research the rite, and then I'll consider it. Pipsy?"

The elf is beside him in a flash. "Master calls?"

"Pipsy, I need anything in the library in regards to the familial wards that keep the Manor."

"Right away!" And with a snap of his fingers, the little elf is gone. Draco opens his mouth to speak, but before he can utter more than a sound, Pipsy is in front of him, two large tomes in his spindly hands. "Pipsy finds these, Master Draco."

"Efficient as ever, Pipsy," he says by way of gratitude, and the elf preens before popping away.

"Draco."

He turns to answer the call of his name, finding his father eyeing him. "Regardless of what you may think of your family, the name Malfoy means something. The path to follow the Dark Lord was a grievous gamble. Don't let that be what we are remembered for."

Draco bristles, uncomfortable under the weight of responsibility. "It is not my place to clean up after you, Father."

"It is precisely your place," the man counters emphatically. "This family is now yours as much as it was mine. You are the heir to more than a rotting house and a bit of gold. You are heir to a legacy."

"Of hatred," Draco adds, petulant and not even ashamed of it.

Lucius shakes his head at him, disappointed. "Of leadership. The Sacred families once looked to us for guidance. You could guide them into this new era," he adds, with no little significance, and it makes Draco think on the possibilities. He's never known his father to trade in hope, but he sounds almost wistful with possibility.

"An era of your own making," Narcissa adds.

Can he even dare entertain their hidden meaning? Is this their veiled support of his choices? Draco only nods, a bit brisk, and bids them a good evening as he shrinks the tomes and puts them into his pockets.

There is a lot to consider, and he knows no one he would rather see when faced with a dilemma than his witch. Not to mention, she's cracking at research. Draco thinks he is very grateful for her swotty tendencies and prepares for a date lit by reading light instead of candles.

* * *

Hermione is just arriving back to Grimmauld, her shoes still on her feet and robes still about her shoulders, when she is quite surprised by a knock at the door. Harry enters the room at the sound as well, drying his hands on a towel.

"Expecting someone?"

Hermione shakes her head in answer, and Harry continues his path and swings the door wide.

Standing on the stoop, looking like he'd nearly run here, is Draco. He has a large book in his hand and a determined but worn expression on his face. "Granger. Apologies for arriving unannounced."

"You should probably apologize to me, Malfoy. She's likely more happy to see you," Harry quips then turns to leave without even inviting him inside. Hermione rolls her eyes at him.

"Draco would you like to come in?" Then, turning to Harry, "Have you seen Benedick?"

"Yeah, I just fed him. He's right here in the kitch-" He stops mid-sentence, peeking around the corner then back at Hermione. "Well, the food's mostly gone, but he's scampered off as well."

She waves off any concern. "That's fine. I just wanted to make sure he'd eaten." She glances back at Draco. "I might be occupied, it seems."

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Harry leaves, and it's just her and her wizard, still looking at bit worse for wear.

"Has something happened?"

He nods and steps closer, shutting the door behind him. "Are you free? I need your help."

She nods, welcoming his approach and taking a step herself. She breathes out, "Of course," and reaches for him just as he nears. They greet with a sweet kiss, then she gestures to the book. "Tell me what's going on."

And he does. Hermione is quite shocked to hear of the state of the Manor. Perhaps a small, ugly part of her revels in it for only a moment, but then she is back to her problem-solving, altruistic self. Draco seems concerned for his mother above all else but is also hesitant to bind himself to his home. He might have decided to stay around England, but to reincorporate with the wizarding world gives him pause. His life seeming to be completely separate from Wizarding Britain, Hermione wonders, not for the first time, if Draco's mysterious roommates are Muggles.

Draco says he doesn't trust the ancient blood magic that runs the Manor any more than he trusts his father to having been upfront, haggard though he says the man has been.

At some point, they move into the parlour and sit close on the sofa where they had their last tryst. Hermione holds his hand while he speaks, offering assurance and, she hopes, strength. She tells him it will be his decision and his alone, and that his mother is thankfully free to leave, to be safe.

"Except, she won't," he says, a bit despondent. "She'll stay and die with him if that's what it takes." He shrugs and finishes, "She loves him."

"It's… understandable," she finally lands on, not sure what else to say. Hermione might not have affection for Lucius Malfoy, but, taking out his name, she can understand a wife not wanting to leave her husband to perish in the home where they raised their family.

Hermione is a pragmatic witch, but she also feels very deeply.

"So, tell me about the book," she requests, gesturing to the heavy tome he laid on the low table.

Draco reaches in his pocket, and pulls out a small item. Tapping it with his wand to enlarge, another ancient-looking book is laid beside the first. "I asked for anything in the Manor that had to do with the blood wards. I was hoping you might help me look?"

She laughs a little. "Why does this seem familiar? Only it's you instead of Ron, and it's this instead of Transfiguration homework." She means it in jest, but he grimaces and looks at his lap.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… It was presumptuous…"

Hermione reaches forward and takes his hand. "Hey. Draco, it's fine. It's only a bit funny, is all. I'm quite accustomed to being asked for research help."

"By _him_ , sure. I don't want to use you like he always has."

She sits up straighter, her hand falling off of his. "You think Ron uses me?"

Draco looks up, eyes wide like he's made a mistake in speaking ill of her friend. The look on his face makes her even more curious. "What do you mean, 'always has'?

He hesitates for a moment before explaining. "At Hogwarts," he clarifies. "We all knew it. Everyone talked about how much you did for everyone else. Half of Gryffindor should have failed Defense, what with our poor instruction."

"Who's 'everyone'," she wonders aloud, nearly rhetorical as her mind sifts through possibilities.

"My House. We notice things like that. Hogwarts was more than learning; we were building alliances, looking for future leaders amongst our generation. In Slytherin, it's common practice for the smarter students to help the academically weak. Especially if it means keeping someone on the House team or if a family has a lot of social standing, so we know the signs."

She furrows her brow a bit, thinking through. "So you thought I was helping Ron…what, to make sure he could play Keeper?"

Shifting his position with discomfort, Draco clears his throat before continuing. "No. We knew he wasn't that great on the pitch. We thought you were trying to… secure a suit."

"You thought I helped him because I wanted to marry him?" She laughs a little again, not sure if she should be offended or not. She's not, in general, but he's so uncomfortable, she thinks she should be. "That's ridiculous. He was my friend before anything else. I just wanted him to do well."

"Yes, well, you're kinder than we gave you credit for," he says, tucking a curl behind her ear and brushing his fingertips along her cheek. His light touches aways melt her just a little.

"Well," she says decisively, back to the matter at hand. She speaks as she picks up the book, opening it carefully. "I assure you, I don't feel used, and I don't expect a ring as payment. I care about you, so I'll help you."

He doesn't answer immediately, and she grows nervous as she looks at the book, feeling his eyes on her. Finally, he says quietly, "Thanks, Granger," and turns her head with a gentle palm for a kiss.

"You're welcome," she answers with a smile, her lips still brushed against his mouth. She turns back to the book, and he settles in beside her, reading over her shoulder. "Now, let's start with the origin. Do you know which ancestor cast the spell? Or when?"

He doesn't, but they begin to read, searching for answers, Hermione resolved to help the man who has made her so much happier in recent weeks. It's the least she can do for him.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued gratitude to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal. And thank you for reading to all of you

Draco doesn't remember falling asleep, but then, that is the way of these things.

He is roused rather abruptly by Potter's agitating voice. "Hermione, I can't find Benedick."

The witch in question sits up, jostling Draco as he blinks awake. She mumbles an incoherent question to her friend. Taking stock, Draco has a stiff neck, and his arm is half-asleep where Hermione had been laying on it. Harry Potter, wonder wizard extraordinaire, is standing over them. Draco is uncomfortable in many ways.

"He's usually in the kitchen by now, but he hasn't been 'round for breakfast. I checked your room, and he's not there either."

"Is the window open?" she asks, suddenly more alert.

Potter shakes his head. "No, closed up."

Hermione stands quickly, wringing her hands. "What if I've trapped him outside all night? Oh, poor Benedick…"

It's not an ideal way to start a day in Draco's opinion. He needs to make a fast exit.

"I apologize for keeping you up so late, Granger. I'll be off so you can find him."

"I have to get to the Ministry," Potter throws in. "Early meeting. Send me a memo when you get in to the office? Let me know he's alright?"

She agrees to do so, and Potter leaves without a word to Draco. A bit ironic that he's so concerned for the marten and so dismissive of the man.

Hermione leans up to kiss Draco's cheek. "I'm sorry to run," she says. "Only, he's not used to being outside all night." The look on her face is mournful, and Draco wants to see it lifted as soon as possible.

"It's quite alright. I have some decisions to make today. I think I'll spend a bit more time with the books."

She nods. "Do you think you'll go back? Take the family seat?"

Does he? Draco is still unsure. The ritual, for what they had found, seems to ride the lines of Dark Magic, a great deal of blood binding and soul magic involved in its inception, but if he does not, his mother…

Even Lucius is a small concern. For all his faults, the man is still Draco's father.

"I'm considering," is all he can bring himself to say. "Go on then, find your marten, love. I'll see you soon." Another quick kiss, this time on her lips, and then Draco takes his leave…

Only to circle the house, books shrunk into his pockets, and take his marten form once more. He has just made it under the tree below her window when she exits the back door.

"Benedick! Oh, darling, I'm so, so sorry! I must've closed the window. You poor dear!" She scoops him up roughly and holds him so tight Draco can hardly breath. He can feel the pounding of her heart and scent her fear. He hates that he worried her so. The relief breaking through her pain is hardly a comfort to his guilt.

"Come on, let's get you inside. Maybe we need to install a pet door if you insist on wandering."

Draco nuzzles her arm, liking that idea very much. It would mean another option outside the tree, and he is growing tired of doing that climb twice daily.

She laughs at his response. "You really are too clever by half. What do you say to a little tuna for breakfast? Don't tell Harry, alright?"

With one last nuzzle, he's agreeing that his lips are sealed.

* * *

The Ministry could not be more boring if it tried, and Hermione is itching to leave and send Draco an owl.

As soon as Benedick had his breakfast, Hermione had left him in the house and made her way to her office, stopping by Harry's desk and leaving a note that all was well with their furry little roomie.

Now, it's after four, and she can't wait to find out what Draco has decided (or if he is still working through his options). Of course, she understands it is his decision, and would never want to sway him, but the implications for their relationship, so new and fragile, could be profound.

If he takes the seat, will he be required to protect the bloodline with a pure heir? Not that they are near the status to be considering such a thing between them, but what is the ultimate end game of dating if not a potential partner and family?

And if he refuses, what will that mean for his status in England? Will he be inclined to leave after all, hoping to escape his family's pull? And if he stays, will the guilt of knowing they are so close and in danger be too much for him to stomach? Hermione might not have any love for Lucius Malfoy, but if it was her own family in peril? Regardless of anything they had done, could she turn her back?

At the least, she supposes this will show her more of the kind of man Draco Malfoy has grown to be.

Another ten minutes, and she can justify leaving. Time is crawling as she studiously underlines her underlines and blackens the ink on parchment. So caught up in her efforts to look busy while passing the time, she doesn't hear Harry until he knocks loudly on the frame of her door.

"'Mione?"

"Oh!" She startles, and her quill fumbles from her fingers to the floor. "Merlin, Harry, you scared me half to death."

He chuckles and enters without invitation, making himself at home in the chair across her desk. "What's so fascinating down here in Muggle relations anyway? You seem quite involved."

"Honestly, nothing. Today was frightfully dull, and I'm just looking over the minutes from yesterday's meeting."

"Perfect! Then you can duck out early," he announces, leaning forward and grinning like mad.

Hermione glances at the clock, finding it nearly half past. "I suppose I could leave now. Can I presume you've made plans for me?"

"Well, I made plans for _me_ ," he tells her, "which could easily become your plans. How about it? Pint at Silver Cross?"

"Just us?" she asks, brow raised, but he shakes his head.

"The boys will be there, Luna probably. I doubt Ron, if that's your concern."

"It's fine," she says, waving that away. "I'm not avoiding him. I'm just surprised at the location… You've really got all these wizards embracing Muggle London, haven't you?"

He grins that roguish grin. "I'm a trendsetter."

Hermione can't help the laugh as she grabs her bag. "Let me just stop by the owlery, let Draco know where I'll be in case he is looking for me."

"Oh, it must be serious," Harry quips. "You never check in for anyone."

She huffs and smacks his arm lightly as they make their way down the corridor. "He's going through some things. I just want to be there for him."

Her friend just hums, and they walk a moment in silence. Hermione chews her lip as she ponders a question, Harry's sigh bringing her out of her thoughts.

"Why don't you invite him, Hermione, before you chew through your lip all the way to your teeth?"

"How do you always know what I'm thinking?" she wonders with a bit of a pout.

"Please. As if you're difficult to read," he tells her, bumping her shoulder with his own.

"If you really think it would be alright…"

Harry shrugs and pushes the button for the lift, gesturing for her to go ahead with the doors open immediately. "It's fine. Theo will be there, and they're friends. Dean is pretty easy going about nearly anything. Ron would probably try to lay him out, but, as I said, not a problem tonight."

They stand in the lift for another beat of silence before she agrees. "Alright. I'll invite him. He probably won't accept, but it's polite to try."

It's very little time before she finds a Ministry owl available for a run and writes a short note to attach to its leg.

_Draco,_

_Going to Silver Cross with Harry and his Quidditch team. Would you like to join us? Nott will probably be there. Muggle London near the Ministry._

_I hope you're well-_

She scratches that out. Too formal.

_Did you make a decisio-_

Too nosy.

_I thought of you all day-_

Too needy.

"Come on, 'Mione. If we're late, it's almost impossible to get a seat on a Friday."

With a sigh, she finishes with a simple fond closing.

_XOXO Hermione_

"There." She pets the bird, whispering her request for it to deliver to Draco Malfoy then turns back to Harry. "So impatient," she accuses as she leaves the room, tossing her curls over her shoulder. She can practically hear him smiling after her.

* * *

Draco begins to worry when six in the evening comes and goes and no Granger. No Potter, for that matter. He had curled up in his marten form at around five, imagining she would be arriving any moment.

He had been exhausted, eyes bleary. For the entire morning and most of the afternoon, he had reviewed the tomes, pondering his future. What he wouldn't give for his witch to soothe him with a kiss, the strain showing as visible lines on his face, purple bruising beneath his eyes.

And here he sits, still waiting. Perhaps she was held up at the Ministry? It's unlike both her and Potter to be gone this late. She'd said nothing this morning about a change in her schedule…

He waits nearly another thirty minutes before deciding to check his post. Perhaps she sent him a message in regards to his familial problems. Regardless, he is going to drive himself mad sitting here and waiting.

He leaves the window ajar, giving Benedick the excuse to wander, and makes his way to the owl post, trying not to feel anxious. If she's not messaged him, he won't know what to do next.

He breathes easier when Harold hands him a short missive, her typical messy handwriting a very welcome sight.

Draco stares at it for at least a minute. She wants him, Draco Malfoy, to meet her at a Muggle pub with her Gryffindor friends?

Alright, yes, Theo Nott is somehow part of that odd circle, but the fact remains that none of them will want him there. And how is he supposed to even look at Lovegood without her reading the guilt and panic on his face? She sat in his dungeon for _weeks_. He had been made to deliver her food, wretched fare, barely edible, and refused to speak to her when she tried to make conversation.

Harold is staring at him with concern. "Alright there, Mister Malfoy?"

"Fine," he says, a bit short. "Thank you, Harold." He tosses a sickle onto the counter and takes his parchment in hand, weighing his options.

Would he like to see Hermione? Bloody hell, yes, he would. Alone with his thoughts all day, there is nothing else he would rather do. But at what cost? He imagines the faces, the sneers and disgust. He lives possibilities as he walks, keeping his hood up to hide his very notable shade of hair. As obvious as a Weasley, his platinum locks are just as damning as that wretched red is now respectable.

He has trouble imagining any acceptance to be found in a lions' den, and yet, every possibility, every plausible encounter and altercation, ends with Hermione smiling at him, holding his hand beneath the table, and he knows he will go. Disappointing her just isn't something he's willing to do.

Making his way back through the Wizarding streets, he emerges into Muggle London like breaking through waves to take a breath. His cloak becomes a hooded jumper in a dark alley, his trousers into denims, and he makes his way toward his witch, picking up his pace the closer he gets.

* * *

All in all, Hermione must say that she is having a decent time. Harry has been talking to Nott most of the evening. They seem to be debating Celestina Warbeck's new song, amongst other drivel. It's lovely to see her friend smile.

For her part, Hermione has been having a very entertaining conversation with Dean about broom regulations. Perhaps conversation is a polite term for Hermione soap-boxing and Dean rolling his eyes a lot, but it seems very good natured, and he even concedes her a few points. Granted, it might be the ale talking, but she thinks she might have him convinced that racing brooms should require a license to operate and a strict age limit.

Draco is never far from her thoughts, but she tries not to be obvious. No one enjoys the girl in the group who is shamelessness pining. She's fairly certain her smile doesn't give her away, except for once when Harry gives her a pitying look. She had vowed to smile brighter and talk louder and that was an hour ago. Well done, Hermione.

And so, when she looks up to see him standing in the doorway, the din of the restaurant pub silences, Dean's arguments for increased broom classes at Hogwarts fade into the background.

Hermione stands, mumbling a perfunctory request to be excused, and makes her way to the door. Draco catches sight of her just before she reaches him, and his wary and nervous expression brightens like the sun. She throws her arms around him in relief, unsure why she was so desperate to have him here.

"Hello, pretty witch," he whispers into her ear as he holds her in turn.

"I'm glad you came," she tells him then pulls back to kiss him soundly.

Perhaps she's had more than a couple of drinks, and maybe the kiss is not quite chaste. A cat call and a smattering of whistles breaks them apart. She grins at him sheepishly, and he smiles back.

"Come on. I've saved you a seat."

Hesitation returns to his face, but he follows anyway, clinging a bit harder than affectionately to her hand.

"Well as I live and breathe," Theo says loudly, the entire table turning to look. "Draco bloody Malfoy in the very pale flesh. Come on, let's get you a drink." He stands, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he circles the table toward Draco.

"Evening, Theo." She's never seen Draco so stiff. She'd been sure these two were friends...

Hermione watches the wizard in question cock his head to the side, and he mocks him. " _Evening, Theo_? You're so uptight." Slipping between her and Draco, Theo throws his arm around his friend's shoulder, leaning back toward her to apologize. "Just borrowing him, love. I'll bring him back with liquor so he's a bit less shirty."

She watches, slightly wide eyed, as Theo steers Draco away, positive her wizard looks back at her with a grimace.

Hermione drops back into her seat with a huff. Across the table, Harry toasts her with a shrug.

* * *

Time moves quickly when you measure it in pint glasses. Draco hadn't stayed away long with Theo, returning promptly with a dark glass of brew and settling in beside Hermione. He had been rigid in the beginning, side-eyeing Luna and resolutely not looking at anyone else. Sensing his trepidation, Hermione had tried to subtly show her support. At least, she had intended on subtle, but she fears she basically draped herself across his lap.

He makes a little small talk eventually. Theo is a safe harbor, but even Dean throws in a comment or two during their discussion of the Falmouth Falcons' new jerseys. Luna comments something about purple humdingers or some such whizzing about Draco's nose, but Hermione and Draco mostly avoid that topic by sharing a lover's glance and both thanking her for the warning. He relaxes infinitesimally after that.

It's nearly ten when things go from mildly awkward to awful.

"Oi, what's he doing here?"

She looks up to see Ron looming over the table, his arm around a tipsy and giggling Lavender Brown.

With absolutely no hesitation or self-preservation, Hermione snuggles into Draco's side, gripping his hand where it rests on her thigh. "He's here with me," she says and hardly slurs at all.

"Yeah, so I'd heard," he shoots back with a sneer. "Seems my two best mates like slumming with snakes these days."

Hermione doesn't need to object this time because Harry is on his feet in less than a breath. "Ron, that's enough."

"Right. Sure. 'Spose it is," he agrees. "Guess it was too much to hope I might spend an evening in civilized company."

"I hardly think your behavior is civil, Weasley." All eyes turn to Theo. Nothing but calm until this point, Hermione can see that he is nearly trembling with agitation, though he keeps his voice even.

"Don't believe I asked your opinion, Nott," Ron throws back, and now Draco is on his feet. Hermione rises almost as quickly, sensing an escalation that, if it isn't diffused soon, is going to result in this little group losing its Friday night pub.

"Ron," she tries, "Why don't you take Lavender and get a drink. I'll see you around." She looks around the table and takes Draco by the arm. "We were just heading out." Her date looks at her in question, and she pleads with her eyes that he follow. This can only end very poorly, and Harry looks riled enough as is.

"Don't leave on my account, 'Mione. Here, we'll just pull up a chair." Ron grabs a chair from the neighboring table and drags it closer, the wooden legs squealing across the floor. Flopping down like he owns the place, he pats his knee. "Have a seat, Lavender," he tells his witch, and she giggles all the way onto his lap, making such a show of shifting around to find a comfortable place, she might as well be giving him a lap dance.

"There," the redhead announces. "All cozy. So what's the topic tonight, gents?"

Dean takes a drink, eyes shifting nervously around the table. Theo tilts his body toward Harry, away from Ron. Luna, Merlin bless her, is staring at something across the bar with a soft smile on her face, seemingly unaware of the tension that has blanketed their table.

Seamus, who snuck in sometime after eight and is a bit less inebriated than the rest, tries for a civil response. "Late night, Weasley? Potter said you were on duty this evening. Didn't expect to see you."

"Quiet night." The answer is terse, and Hermione is aware of Ron's eyes glued to the side of her face. She looks at Seamus, refusing to meet Ron's gaze. Unfortunately, her Irish friend doesn't seem to have a follow-up, only humming to acknowledge he was answered at all.

They all sip their drinks, a synchronized dance to pass the time. Beside her, Draco is stiff once again. His eyes are glued to Theo, like he's waiting for a sign. Snakes united, and all that. Hermione would very much like to go home.

She's not sure if she's grateful or irritated when she realizes she needs the loo. Extracting her hand, she whispers, "Excuse me a moment," and tries to sneak away from the table.

In the ladies', she stares at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are a bit flushed, but all in all, she doesn't look too overtly affected. She's rehearsing excuses, planning an escape, and walks out as tall and proud as her diminutive frame allows…

Only to nearly crash into Ron. "'Mione, what are you doing."

Straightening impossibly more, she answers curtly, "I believe it would be fairly obvious what I would be doing in the ladies', Ronald."

His eyes narrow, face going a bit red. "You know what I mean. What are you doing with that Death Eater? Look, if this is to get back at me for seeing Lavender-"

She laughs at him. Circe help her, but she almost loses her mind with surprised mirth. Apologizing through the laughter, she tries to explain. "Sorry… I'm sorry… but you're not serious. I assure you, my being here with Draco has _nothing_ to do with you."

"' _Draco_ '. Fucking hell, Hermione, did he obliviate you? Have you forgotten who he is?"

She shakes her head, suddenly weary, laughter gone. "I haven't forgotten anything, I promise. He's different than you think. You're going to have to trust me on this."

With a snort, her once-lover looks away. "You sound like Harry. I was just getting used to Nott, then I walk in to find the Ferret Wonder feeling up my girl."

"I am fairly certain Lavender wouldn't appreciate you calling me that. And neither do I," she adds, softly, feeling worn like old wood, tired from the weathering of a war. Is nothing easy? She thought this friendship was forever, even after everything. They'd promised, sobbing in each other's arms, the words 'it's over' fresh from their lips; they swore they would love each other forever, even if it wasn't the way they'd planned.

"No," he agrees. "I s'pose she wouldn't."

Silences stretches, taught like threads on a loom, vibrating with inaction. It will be up to her, she knows. It's always up to Hermione Granger. She sighs, then wraps her arms around his waist. "Ron, I know you worry. I know you lash out when you do." Pulling back to look up at him, his hands warm and familiar on her back. "But he won't hurt me. I trust in that."

His warm blue eyes search hers, ire and drunken embarrassment all but forgotten. "Just be careful, alright? Promise?"

Hermione nods and pulls away. "Promise." He holds her gaze a moment, then turns to walk into the mens'. She would swear his eyes were glassy.

At the table, Draco is sitting up straight, hand clenched around his glass. As soon as he sees her, he's on his feet and closes the distance between them, sealing his lips over hers in a kiss that, if she's honest, is a bit possessive.

She doesn't much mind.

"You alright?"

"I am," she says. "I think Ron and I have an understanding."

"Good," he replies, a bit clipped.

With a wan smile and a glance at their friends (who are watching the exchange with unabashed curiosity), she allows herself a yawn, only partially for show. "Want to take me home, Mister Malfoy?"

A slow smile settles, crooked, onto his handsome face. "With pleasure, love." He gives her no time to protest when he turns to the table and announces, "We're finished for the evening. Enjoy your night," and practically drags her out the door. She's laughing and feeling flushed and light, and not even the shocked expression on Ron's face as he turns the corner can bring her down.

At Grimmauld, they make it to her bed, but only just, her clothes leaving a trail like breadcrumbs up the stairs.

"I think I love you," she finally says, straddling him and holding his face in her hands. He kisses her, hard, and flips them so he is pinning her, hips moving, frantic and impatient, his face buried in her neck and his hand gripping her mane.

After, her head on his chest and her hand laid on his heart, he tilts his head to lay a soft kiss on her curls. "I wanted to say it first," he says into the quiet of the night. She hums against his skin in question, not sure what he means.

"I wanted to be the first to tell you I love you."

"You'll have to be faster with me then," she mumbles with a smile.

His chuckle is the last she hears before she drifts to sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My constant and grateful affection to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal.
> 
> I also want to say thank you once again to everyone reading. Life is strange right now, but when I'm able to fall into the world of this fandom or interact with you through reviews, messages, etc, things feel normal for a moment. I appreciate knowing that the world is still turning outside, billions of us in the same boat. Or metaphorically, different little life boats, all with their own quirks, but not our normal mooring regardless. Thank you for drifting along beside me.

Saturday dawns clear and bright and sets Draco into another juggling act, bouncing between glorious morning afterglow with Granger and chasing his own proverbial tail to get Benedick back unnoticed.

Draco agrees to see Hermione in the evening after taking care of some nameless business. In truth, he spends the afternoon with his witch, just in a different way than he would prefer.

They walk through the park, but he would give his last galleon to do it with his arm around her rather than his neck on a leash. They sit outside at a cafe where he suffers the indignity of catching scraps of her sandwich. The bite that hits the ground, he refuses to eat.

"So sorry, Your Highness," she quips, but indulges him by offering a fresh piece.

She pets him and talks to him, spending a rather encouraging amount of time telling him about her new lover, the infamous Draco Malfoy. He preens when she giggles about how handsome he is, admitting to her familiar that she has had a bit of a thing for him since fourth. She qualifies the comment that she would never have actually considered him, utter prat that he was, but that his looks had caught her eye, nonetheless. She had even found him charming when she caught him speaking with other people, though his personality in regards to her had been deplorable.

Add that to his list of regrets. How different could things have been? Draco entertains the fantasy of attending the Yule ball with Granger on his arm, Krum watching him with envy (instead of the other way around).

Through all this, Draco also thinks of his family, his parents. All tied together with the knowledge that he can't continue as he is. A decision must be made, and Hermione is as much a part of the equation as his sense of devotion to his mother. Which means, if he stays, something must be done in regards to his double life. It was foolish to think he could find a solution by simply drawing out the problem, a lesson he should have learned in sixth.

He knows what he needs to do, of course, in regards to staying in England. Has already all but committed. Part of him feels selfish for even hesitating, for telling his parents he needed to read family history books rather than just blindly helping them. But, for once, he wanted to make a decision on his own terms. Even if he ultimately goes ahead with it, shackling himself to a future that was perhaps always his fate, he wants to do it with his eyes wide open and the knowledge that he had a choice.

In the evening, Draco as Benedick starts to wander, slipping away from Hermione for, at first, only a few moments, then longer blocks of time. His brilliant lover takes the hint.

"Are you feeling restless, my love? Come on then, I'll let you out."

Draco races up the stairs and hops onto the window sill, waiting for her to catch up.

"My, you are eager tonight." She flicks her wand at the window, and it raises just enough to let him slip through. Draco glances back at her once, hoping she takes his look as gratitude, then hops onto the branch. "Be careful, darling," she calls after him, but Draco is already scaling down the tree.

The worst is the waiting. If Draco doesn't want it to become obvious that his appearances are always coincidental to the marten's disappearance, he can't transform and run around to the front door.

Instead, he visits the owlery to send a message requesting tea with his mother. He would like to meet her away from the Manor, he writes, knowing full well that Lucius will not be able to attend. There is something satisfying about leaving the man in the dark just a bit longer. Just to be obstinate, he also demands she meet him in Muggle London where he has found himself to be more comfortable and tells her to wear something appropriate.

_His_ terms. Draco will live by his terms if he's to do this. He will do what's right for his family, but they won't be the Malfoys that the wizarding world recognizes and reviles.

Not to mention, if he can manage it in spite of his sticky little situation with his marten form, he will do it all with Granger at his side.

Because she loves him. Fuck, if that's not the most miraculous thing that's ever happened to Draco Malfoy.

It takes him almost an hour to make it to the post and back again which feels like a proper amount of time between Benedick's departure and Draco's arrival. He saunters to the front step and rings the bell, grinning broadly when Hermione opens it for him.

"Draco." She breathes out his name through a smile, elated and relieved. He doesn't hesitate to step into her space and kiss her softly.

"Hello, lovely. Hungry?"

"I am, actually. Did you want to have something brought in?"

Draco shakes his head and takes a hold of her hand. "I want to take you out." He pauses before continuing, oddly pleased to tell Hermione of his decision first, before his parents or anyone else. "I've made a decision. And if I'm to stay in England, I'm just going to have to grow accustomed to being seen, won't I?"

Her smile splits her face. "You're staying?"

With a decisive nod, he agrees. "I'm staying. And I'd very much like to have you with me to help me through."

He's surprised when she throws her arms around his waist but not overly so. Wrapping himself around her in turn, Draco luxuriates in her affection and support. If he had any misgivings, any hesitation that he is doing the right thing for himself as well as his family, she eclipses all of it.

Hermione suggests a restaurant where she is fairly well known and always welcome. In a small building, not far from the Weasleys' shop, is a cafe owned by a couple known to have been vocal Order supporters during the war. Draco is aware of at least one occasion that some of the rougher Death Eaters had visited only to loudly complain of poor food and service before turning over tables and smashing dishes on their way out. He hopes their love for Hermione is able to overcome what he imagines must be hatred for him.

They walk side by side, Hermione's hand held in his, and Draco is aware of eyes on him. Typically keeping his cloak over his head while in wizarding public, he feels exposed. His witch, on the other hand, is grinning proudly beside him.

They pass a couple who sees him first, and the man sneers at him. Draco sees the woman beside him elbow his ribs and gesture to Hermione. The sneer becomes confusion, and then Draco has passed them and cannot see any further reaction. He hopes that the revulsion he elicits does not pass to Hermione as well.

More witches and wizards stop to stare as they walk by, Draco becoming more and more nervous all the while. No one speaks to him, no rude remarks, but some do nod at Hermione, side-eyeing him warily as they do.

By the time they reach the restaurant, Draco is tight with tension, stiff and unsure, eyes darting around him in search of sneering faces and harsh whispers amongst friends. If his witch has noticed, she is choosing not to comment and flounces into the restaurant, dragging Draco by the hand.

"Evening, Maggie." A witch of slightly advanced age turns and welcomes Hermione in turn.

"Hello, my dear! Just you as usual- oh! Oh, no, it appears there are two of you," she corrects herself and offers a saucy little wink. Draco relaxes infinitesimally. The woman must not recognize him.

"Lookit you, out with the Malfoy heir. What a handsome couple you make, darling."

Scratch that; apparently, she does. Granger just offers a smile.

"Come on then. Your table is open." With that, the woman picks up two parchments, presumably menus, and leads them into the dining area.

Draco leans over and asks, " Your table?"

Hermione shrugs and smiles up at him. "She likes me."

Maggie doesn't linger once they are seated, sashaying away to fetch the drinks they requested and stating she will send over one of her staff in a moment. Draco takes a moment to look around and finds a few faces eyeing him in turn. More confusion, more distaste, but no one says anything, and for that he is grateful.

"So, you've decided to stay."

He looks back at Hermione to find her smiling at him, her hand laying upon the table just begging to be held. He obliges, threading his fingers through hers and resting them on the cloth covered table for two.

"I've decided to stay."

"Your mother will be grateful, I'm sure," she comments. "And your father, though he doesn't strike me as the type to show it."

Draco chuckles and agrees that Lucius, indeed, is not adept at showing gratitude. He sobers then and adds, "But, really, I think I was already staying. They just forced me to confront it officially."

"Oh?" She looks at him, expectant, and so he continues.

"I was leaving because I had nothing to stay for. I never expected this." He gestures between them. "This chance you've given me… You're worth staying for, even if all of England hates me."

"Maggie didn't seem to mind you," she quips but rubs her thumb over his hand in a loving and sympathetic gesture. She glances around, and Draco notices the heads of the other patrons turn back to their meals when she catches them staring.

"Time will help," she says, low and a little sad. "Time helps everything."

"Granger, I…" He stops, unsure why he feels a sudden need to lay everything out for her. But, fuck, she loves him. Loves him… and he'll be damned if she catches him out before he can tell her what he's done.

Taking a deep breath, he starts again. "I need you to know, there's something I've done... from before. And I'm not quite ready to tell you, but I will. I promise you that."

She looks back at him in question, trying to puzzle his secrets from the expression on his face.

"Why can't you tell me now?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think I can; don't even know how to even say the words. I need time, but… I want you to know that I'm trying. I don't want secrets between us, and I'm trying to live up to my end of that."

"You're afraid that, whatever this is, I won't want to be with you?"

Draco considers that. Does he believe she will forgive him? Can he even hope for it? She's one of the most kind and understanding witches he knows. Then again, her vindictive streak is the stuff of legends. He lands on a confused truth. "I'm not sure. I suppose I must be afraid of the possibility. Though, I'm resting hope that, some day, maybe you will understand."

Hermione looks around the restaurant before leaning forward and lowering her voice. "Have you… During the war… Did you kill someone?"

He's startled, staring at her with wide eyes before blurting out, "Merlin, no! Fuck, Granger, you go right for worst case don't you?"

"Well it must be fairly bad if you think I won't forgive you." She continues to study him until it's uncomfortable, Draco shifting his eyes away from her stare. He feels her hand squeeze his. "Draco?"

He wishes he'd not said anything, knowing she will be hard pressed to let this drop. Draco looks back at her, full of trepidation. "Please, Hermione, just… trust me in this. I _will_ tell you; I just need to work some things out. The situation got away from me. I didn't make a conscious decision to land where I have."

"You're not seeing someone else are you?" She asks in a small voice, her hand falling away, but he reaches for it and holds tight.

"Never. _You_ are the witch I want, Granger. Only you. It's nothing like that. What I've done…" He searches the room, trying to find words to soothe her. "I did something before I saw you again; before that day I ran into you on the street. I didn't think it would matter. Honestly, I didn't think I had anyone in my life that would care what I did... But now it _does_ matter. There were consequences I hadn't considered at the time. But I've not been disloyal to you, and I won't. Not ever."

She offers a half smile, a concession to allow his reluctance. "You sound like a Hufflepuff."

Surprised into a laugh, Draco leans forward. "I do have one secret I can tell you. A show of good faith for future honesty?" She leans in as well with curiosity. Draco goes on in a stage whisper, "I always wanted to be a Hufflepuff. If only because of the proximity to the kitchens."

She laughs with him, and they discuss his 'puff-like traits for some time. Draco feels somewhat lighter, knowing that he has been open to a degree. It wasn't a confession, but he confessed to the need for one, and that feels like a first step, like he's laid the groundwork to sincere regret. It can never be said he didn't try to apologize, that he didn't own up to having made a mistake.

And that right there is why the hat adamantly sent him to the snakes. He might have the fierce loyalty of a badger, but he also works problems from all angles, and now he has lived to fight another day, metaphorically speaking.

Hermione doesn't ask again about his secret, though he can see her mind turning, a glazed expression occasionally taking over her face as she stares at nothing across the room.

He can't live this double life forever, and when he's ready, he will find a way to make it right. For now, she needs Benedick as surely as Draco needs her.

Once the evening is done, Draco says he will see her soon, but that he wants to be fresh for tea with his mother. She pouts a little, and Draco pushes her gently against the exterior wall of the restaurant, burying his hands in her hair and kissing her soundly. "If I come home with you, I fear we won't sleep as much as I need before tomorrow," he says softly to her, his forehead pressed to hers. "Can I see you tomorrow evening? Tell you how it goes?"

She nods, eyes closed and licking her lips. If she keeps that up, looking so desperate to continue what they started, he might lose his resolve. Draco steps away but keeps her hand in his and brushes her knuckles to his lips. "Tomorrow. Thank you for making time for me this evening, my love."

She nods again, and he thinks she is going to just let him walk away when she uses their clasped hands to pull him back in for a kiss that is, if he's perfectly honest, absolutely indecent. "Tomorrow," she agrees, nipping at his mouth. "Come by after six. I'll have dinner."

Draco grins and readily agrees. "I love you," he says as they pull away, still awed by his fortune. Who ever thought someone like Draco Malfoy would have the love of this witch? He doesn't deserve it, for past transgression as well as his current duplicity, and he never wants her to doubt his feelings when all of this crashes around him. He pushes that thought away as best he can.

"I love you, too," she returns with a grin. "See you soon."

He watches her back away a few steps before she turns and Apparates, leaving Draco alone on a quiet street, most of the witches and wizards already home for the evening.

Behind him, he hears the bell on a door, and turns to find Maggie smiling at him.

"She's a good one, that Hermione Granger," the woman says, and Draco nods.

"Best witch I've ever known," he agrees and is heartened when the woman smiles.

"Take good care of her. Better than that Weasley boy, at least. I didn't like how many dinners ended in tears or hollering matches between them. You, though, you strike me as someone who appreciates her." Draco nods, ready to agree, when the woman's face turns a bit more stern, and she adds, "Don't muck it up."

Draco stares wide-eyed as the woman locks the restaurant door and saunters down the street.

_That's what I'm trying to do, Maggie,_ he thinks after her, feeling very much like she sees right through him.

* * *

Hermione virtually floats into Harry's townhouse, pressing her back against the door to close it and letting out a happy sigh.

"Date with Malfoy?" She glances up to find Harry looking at her in question. It appears he has not been home long himself, still garbed in his robes, dragon-hide boots on his feet.

"I did," she answers, slightly haughty while looking him over. "What about you? A bit late on a work night, Mister Auror."

He shrugs off his robes and tosses out casually, "I was out with Theo."

One eyebrow raises, and she wonders aloud, "Just Theo? I didn't realize you were that close..."

"Seamus was there earlier. Oh, and Luna for just a moment."

It's not really an answer, but Hermione lets it slide. She certainly doesn't want to pry. Harry has been pretty kind in regards to her love affair, after all. So what if she is catching a bit of an inkling where Theo is involved? He will tell her if there's anything to tell.

"So what has you over the moon? The ferret extraordinaire do something almost human?"

Alright, so maybe he's not been 'kind', but Hermione can take a little heat. "He's decided to stay in England," she divulges, thrilled and unwilling to let Harry bring her down with his quips.

He looks at her, a bit surprised. "Is he? Theo seemed pretty certain he was leaving at some point."

She shrugs and waves her hand flippantly. "He was. But his family asked him to stay, and he's been considering it."

"And I'm sure you had nothing to do with it," he says with a heaping of sarcasm.

Hermione smiles a secret smile and mimes locking her lips with a key.

"Well, that's good then. I mean, I could live without him, but I'm happy for you. Does this mean... Are you two serious then?"

Biting her lip, Hermione considers how much she wants to say. Finally, not liking secrets with her best friend, she admits, "He told me he loves me."

A breath with a bit of a whistle slides through his teeth. "Quite the turn of events, yeah? Who would have thought?"

"Not me," she returns with a laugh and a lot of honesty. "Never in my life. I couldn't be happier, but, believe me, no one is more surprised than I am."

"Just, maybe take it a bit slow, alright? Make sure he's who you think?"

A flash in her mind, Draco begging for forgiveness but unwilling to confess, gives her pause, but Hermione has decided to trust him with her heart. So she shakes her head at her friend and assures him, "He is. He's better than I could have imagined. Harry, I told him I feel the same. That I love him."

He eyes her for longer than is comfortable, then nods once, decisive. "I'm happy for you, then. And if he turns out to be anything but perfect, I'll break his arms."

It's delivered so deadpan she laughs, and Harry cracks a smile. "Good night, Harry," she finally says and makes for the stares.

In her room, Benedick is laying in his usual place, his head rising to stare at her when she enters. "Hello, you." She lifts him to hold against her and scratches at his head as she slips off her shoes by the door. "I had such a wonderful night. Draco has decided to stay! I can hardly believe it." She holds him away from her, staring fondly into his dark eyes. "I think I might love him just almost as much as I love you, darling."

With a final pat, she lays him back down and heads for the en suite to ready for bed, noticing idly that her window is closed and hoping Benedick didn't spend his entire evening trapped in her room.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments last chapter. It's a pleasure to hear from all of you, more than I can say.
> 
> All my love to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal forever and always

Draco has invited his mother to afternoon tea at three. A bit early compared to the strict schedule of four o'clock that Narcissa had always insisted is proper, but it's just one more in a list of small rebellions that Draco is enjoying. It's Monday, so Hermione will be home just after five. This will have to do. As Head of House (not officially, but soon enough), it is his prerogative to change schedules as needed.

He arrives early and claims a small table to the side of the restaurant. The establishment is quaint and traditional, offering scones and light sandwiches along with a wide variety of teas. He selects Darjeeling for himself and asks the staff to prepare Narcissa something they call 'Lady Grey', a Muggle variation on his mother's favoured Earl Grey.

When she enters, he's never seen his mother look more nervous, and it makes him feel a twinge of guilt. To the patrons, he is certain she appears completely at ease, but he knows her too well, can see the grip of her hand on her bag and her rigid, purposeful steps.

He stands and approaches, and her shoulders drop ever so slightly in relief.

"Mother." He takes her hands and brushes a kiss to her cheek. Her own grip is more firm than usual.

"Draco, darling. I was quite pleased to receive your owl."

An odd phrase for Muggles, he knows. Draco glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any attention. After guiding her to their seats and helping her into her chair, he also sits and subtly pulls out his wand. Swishing it beneath the table, he casts a light Silencing Charm.

Narcissa looks at him in question, raising a brow.

"Can't have you scaring the Muggles with talk of owls and blood rites, Mother." He chuckles as she screws up her face in distaste.

"I can't imagine why you would be more comfortable here. We could have had a lovely tea at the Manor… or that little shop in Diagon Alley we used to visit together."

He straightens, all amusement lost. "I did not wish to see Father today. As for Diagon, I prefer not to dine where they might be tempted to poison my scones."

She waves her hand around, dismissing his concerns. "No need for such dramatics. Wizarding society has long respected the Malfoy name."

"Not anymore," he grits out through his teeth. "I know you've only recently been released from your confinement, but my experiences have been less than civil." Not to mention, be barely refrains from adding, _she_ was never a marked Death Eater.

"Let's not talk of such things," she says, ever uncomfortable with realities she doesn't like to face. "I have anticipated that this afternoon would confirm my hopes… that you are ready to accept your responsibilities to your family?" She eyes him with a strange mix of judgement and trepidation. Draco doesn't like the direction of the conversation, nor her attitude of entitlement.

_My terms_ , he says to himself, a mantra for his future.

Still, he can't deny that was, indeed, the purpose of this meeting. So he takes a breath and makes his mother proud. "Yes. I have decided to acknowledge my role as Head of House."

Narcissa claps her hands together just as a cup of tea is set in front of her. "Oh, Draco, that's wonderful! Your father will be so pleased."

Draco nods at the server, silent gratitude for the tea, then waits for him to walk away before answering. "I hope I have made it clear that my decision has nothing to do with pleasing my father. He might not celebrate when he realizes I intend to take on the title fully. The Manor, properties, and what little wealth remains will be mine to do with as I will. I will not be looking to him for guidance nor permission in regards to my personal life or the family estate. Pipsy will transfer to me as master, any objects of Dark Magic will be stripped from the house, and I'm considering Malfoy Enterprises, shell that it is, will look to Muggle investments in the coming years."

She is staring at him with wide eyes, hands still clasped but looking frail, as if they are shielding her heart from his words. He hates to see her this way, but never again will Draco be forced into a life of subservience. His father might not have realized it, but through desperation, he has finally given Draco absolute freedom.

"And us? Your father and I? Are we to be forced from our home as you take your place? Will you find a way to have your father released only to turn him out?"

"Now who is indulging in dramatics?" he asks with a scoff. "Of course not. The Manor is the family home. Once I accept ownership, I assume it will be easy enough to repair, and you are both welcome to stay indefinitely. I hardly even care about the Manor if I'm honest. What I'm referring to is the life I almost had. Dark Lords and Sacred politics and betrothals to 'appropriate' witches…" He punctuates with two fingers and a sarcastic drawl on the description of his approved former love interests. "In particular, I am currently pursuing Hermione Granger with absolutely _reckless_ abandon, and I won't listen to a single word about that choice. I would be so lucky for her to consider a deeper commitment."

Her hands have dropped and her expression cooled from panic to irritation. "And by this you are cautioning what? That we not make references to her barbaric upbringing at the dinner table?"

"I caution you to treat her every ounce as respectfully as you would a Greengrass, Selwyn, or Parkinson, or there will _be no_ instances at a dinner table for you to trouble yourself. If you would like to enjoy a relationship with me and, potentially, any future heirs I might have-"

"That's getting quite ahead of yourself."

"-with Hermione or with _any_ other witch, then I advise you to forget what you ever thought you knew about blood status."

He sits back in his chair, face stern and jaw clenched, as his mother sits tall and prim, looking at him with just as much strength of expression.

Finally, she nods. "As you say." There is a pause as she looks at her cup and lifts it to her nose. "Now, what is this dreadful concoction?"

"A Muggle tea," he takes great pleasure in telling her.

She wrinkles her nose but takes a sip. After a moment, she sets the cup down and makes herself busy adding jam to a scone. "It's acceptable," she says, and Draco knows it cost her a lot.

Over the next hour, Draco makes arrangements with his mother to visit the Manor in the coming days. A ritual to bind him to the physical earth of the ancestral home as well as take ownership of the magic that infuses his bloodline must be completed.

In addition, and this is a surprise to Draco, there are necessary parchments to file with the Ministry. Narcissa has taken it upon herself, she tells him, to put the steps into motion. One of 'those Weasleys,' she says, was 'surprisingly efficient,' and Draco need only make an appearance and provide a magic-imbued signature.

If he hurries, he can find Granger before she leaves for the day.

"I'll take care of it, Mother. This afternoon, if I leave now." They both rise, Draco moving quickly in order to help her with her chair.

At the door, they step onto the Muggle streets, Narcissa back to appearing nervous to Draco's trained eye. "Will you be alright to an Apparition point?"

She levels him with a severe look. "Please do not forget who is the parent and who is the child, Draco. I managed well enough to this hovel; I think I can make it home."

He chuckles, aware that the tea house he selected is as luxuriously decorated and politely staffed as any in Diagon, but recognizes Narcissa Malfoy's need to belittle in order to feel safe. Perhaps he can help break her of that habit in the coming years. "Alright then." He kisses her cheek and is surprised when she grabs his lapel, not releasing him immediately.

After a moment, her expression giving little away, she offers a soft, "Thank you, Draco."

He hesitates, but after no more than a beat wraps his arms around her in an embrace, the likes of which they've not shared since he was a boy. "Of course, Mother. I'll take care of you."

When they pull away, he would swear there is moisture at the corner of her eye, but she sounds strong, stoic even, as she argues, "Isn't it the parent who takes care of the child, my dragon?"

"Just this once, then," he returns with a lopsided grin. "I won't tell if you don't."

* * *

The moment Draco walks into the Ministry, he regrets the decision. He should have waited; could have asked Hermione to accompany him another day.

In the main lobby, a monument has been erected to replace Voldemort's grotesque 'Magic is Might.' A silhouette of a witch and wizard, wands at the ready as they stand defensively, back to back, is chiseled with names of the war's fallen.

Not the Death Eaters, of course.

He walks by it quickly, heart beating a little faster, breath coming shallow. The names are large enough to read from a distance. He sees 'Creev' before turning away. His eye catches 'Remus' as he makes for the lifts. All the while, faces sneer at him or gawk. A witch turns to watch him walk by, completely abandoning her task of scribbling something into a notebook. A wizard with a tired, weathered face hardens his expression and glares. Another double-takes, giving Draco a once over and focusing on his notable hair.

He slips into the lift, grateful to find it empty. His gaze focuses straight ahead, readying himself for the short but nauseating ride. With one last vision of the monument, he sees 'Diggory' and squeezes his eyes closed, breathing deep to calm his racing heart.

_This was a mistake._ He repeats it like the words will protect him; as if accepting responsibility will create a shield from the hatred and fear he sees on the faces of those around him. He's desperate to find Hermione and feels like a coward for knowing it, for feeling like she is his safe harbour.

Fuck, he might as well be a pine marten, the way he wants to cower behind her strength.

On the floor that he knows to house her office, he looks right then left before taking a breath and approaching the closest desk. A wizard he doesn't recognize, thank Merlin, looks up and gives him a smile. "Welcome to Muggle Relations. Do you have an appointment?"

Draco shakes his head, grateful all over again to not be known for once. "I don't, I'm afraid, but I was hoping to see Hermione Granger."

"Draco?"

The wizard hasn't even had time to respond when Draco hears her voice, a welcome relief.

She's approaching from the direction of the lifts that Draco only just exited, a small stack of parchment in her hand.

He turns back to the desk just long enough to give the wizard a nod (who then goes back to the work laid before him), then closes the distance to Hermione. If he were a marten, he would paw at her legs until she lifted him close so he could bury his face in her neck. Unfortunately, that is not in the cards, and Draco very much doubts she would appreciate any unprofessional behavior and stops at a polite distance.

"I apologize if I've intruded," he begins, contrite. "I had business at the Ministry and thought it a perfect excuse to see you."

The half smile on her face widens into a grin as she shakes her head in protest. "It's quite alright. Did you see your mother?" With his confirming nod, she gestures further down the corridor. "Would you like to come to my office for a moment? Tell me about how it went? Unless," she interrupts herself, considering, "You have business to attend to. We can talk more later."

"No, no," he says quickly, very uncomfortable with leaving her just yet, with heading back into the bowels of the Ministry and fighting his way past regrets and judgements. "I just need to make it to Magical Lineage before five. Shouldn't take a moment."

She eyes him curiously as she starts walking again. "What's in Lineage?"

"Documents to take ownership of the Manor and the family holdings," he tells her openly.

She looks at him with wider eyes. "You're moving on this quickly, then."

With a shrug, he steps ahead of her to push open the door that seems to be her destination and holds it open for her as she steps inside. He watches as she crosses to her desk, covered in various stacks of parchment, writing utensils, and at least three tea cups scattered about. "You look busy," he comments, slightly amused by the state of her desk.

She glances at it and blushes. "It's been a long week. A witch in Portsmouth revealed herself to a gathering of Muggles at some festival they have there. A very large number of witnesses...We're trying to spin it as a street performer to give the Obliviation team some relief."

He nods and moves toward the desk, taking a seat in the chair to which Hermione has directed him. Rather than taking the chair across the desk, she perches on the only clean corner just in front of him. It's divine torture how close she's sitting. He wants to pull her straight into his lap, wondering idly if she has any fantasies in regards to workplace liaisons.

"I take it things went well with your mother?"

"Well enough," he allows. "She seemed pretty sure I wanted to tell her I was staying, so she wasn't disappointed."

He recounts the finer points of the conversation, including his declaration that Hermione Granger will be a part of his life for as long as she will have him. His witch tilts her head at him with a soft smile and reaches for his hand, seeming to understand the gravity of the declaration. She doesn't let go until he reaches the end of his story.

"Would you like me to walk with you?" He gives her a questioning look, and she clarifies. "Down to Lineage. The Ministry can be such a maze, and-"

"Yes, please," he throws out quickly, more than grateful.

She laughs a little at his enthusiasm and rises from the desk. "Let me just grab my bag. It's nearly five, so I can just duck out early."

Draco glances at the clock and finds it is not even half past four. "They won't mind?" he asks, slightly nervous for future dealings.

"I'm usually here before eight, and I stay after a lot. I have a pretty flexible schedule, really; I just like to be a bit rigid with myself."

He tucks that away in the back of his mind, knowing he will have to be careful with his comings and goings as Benedick if her schedule is more self-imposed than mandated. Just one more way to be caught…

They make their way to the lifts, Granger speaking politely to a few people as they pass and wishing them a good evening. One witch in particular gives him a deathly glance, but no one lingers, and it is over in a flash.

"Sorry about Gretchen," she whispers low once they reach the lifts. "She doesn't care for… well, most people, I suppose."

Draco grimaces. "Are you sure it isn't just me?"

The looks she gives him is of honest confusion. "Quite sure. Harry popped by yesterday, and she nearly shoulder checked him when they passed at my office door."

A quick image of an off-kilter Potter, all disheveled and awkward, flashes through his mind, and Draco relaxes just a little. Hermione accused him, once, of always knowing what she needs. He thinks that perhaps he could say the same of her.

Lineage boasts an atmosphere of strict order with a minimalist decor. Draco discovers why that is when Hermione leads him straight to the department head. "Hey, Percy."

The redhead in question looks up, glasses perched at the tip of his nose. There are no photographs, portraits, or any other decor. Only grey walls and a desk that holds no more than neatly lined up quills, an ink pot, and the single piece of parchment on which Percy Weasley seems to be working. It's a dramatically far cry from Granger's haphazard space.

Weasley sets his quill into the one empty stand and removes his glasses with precision. They are laid down on the corner of his desk 'just so' before he looks up. "Miss Granger. Lovely to see you, as always."

She glances at Draco and gestures to him as she explains, "Draco has some paperwork to complete in regards to inheritance. Could you direct us where we need to go?"

"Ah, yes." He stands, and Draco notices his attire and general demeanor are as neat and strict as the office. Perfectly pressed robes and not a hair out of place, no wonder even Narcissa Malfoy had a kind word for this particular Weasley. "I met with your mother recently on this same topic. Very punctual lady."

Draco thinks maybe Percy Weasley is as miserly with compliments as his mother, and perhaps he was equally impressed by her.

Nodding, Draco answers, "I've just met with her as well. She explained the Ministry requires my signature to file the necessary records."

"Just so." Flicking his wand at a cabinet to Draco's back, a crisp parchment lays itself on the desk. Weasley gestures to the two chairs in front of him, and both Draco and Hermione take a seat. "This declaration applies physical and magical ownership of all Malfoy properties and lineage rights to the new Head of House. With Lucius Malfoy dishonored and his magic limited, he is no longer recognized in that role. Narcissa Malfoy née Black will not be acknowledged-"

"Why is that?"

Weasley stops and looks to Hermione; Draco follows suit.

She asks again, "Why didn't the Malfoy estate fall to Narcissa?" She looks inexplicably annoyed. Draco's eyes fall back to the Ministry official at the other end of her gaze.

"Narcissa Black is a Malfoy via marriage bond and so cannot inherit the properties in full. If Mister Malfoy," his eyes shifting to Draco in case there was a question as to who is in reference, "seeks to have his mother physically removed from the property, she may petition to remain based on spousal rights, but ownership will never transfer."

"I see," Hermione says primly. Draco looks at her in question and she stage whispers, "I just wanted to make sure it's not because she's a witch or some such antiquated nonsense."

She really will forgive anyone, champion anyone's rights, Draco thinks. Even someone who has treated her as poorly as Narcissa Malfoy... It gives him hope for a little lost marten.

"If I may?" At his prompt, Hermione invites with a hand gesture that Weasley may continue. "As I say, if you wish to have your mother removed from the property, you will need to file with my colleague in Property Protections."

"That's not necessary," he answers. "She will be welcome to stay at the Manor with my father."

Another clipped nod, and Percy presents a quill. "Be warned, this is a familial contract. As such, the quill will be utilizing your blood for the signature."

Draco hears Granger whisper, "Barbaric," but she says no more. Accepting the quill gingerly, he scrawls his name, wincing at the sting as it drains drops from his veins to write. He turns his hand over, but sees no blemishes left behind.

"It's not a Black Quill," Weasley explains. "Can hardly have the Ministry asking you to tattoo your own signature on your hand."

Belatedly, Draco realized this was meant to be a joke.

"Miss Granger, I do hope you would consider visiting Mother for Sunday roast. She has been quite distressed that you've not visited of late."

Draco watches her blush and glance back at him under her lashes. "I've been a bit busy on the weekends, but I'll try to make it this week."

"Most excellent. Perhaps Mister Malfoy might like to accompany you."

Draco is a little taken back by the inclusion and nods at the wizard politely. Hermione, he notices, doesn't really respond, just hums in thought, and they take their leave.

She is quiet as they make their way from the Ministry: contemplative. After awhile, Draco starts to feel uncomfortable, searching for something to say.

"I apologize if I've kept you from other obligations for our Sunday brunches, Granger."

That seems to snap her out of her thoughts, and she shakes her head in denial. "No, don't apologize. It was my choice. I've not been eager to see Ronald that often. Or Ginny, since she and Harry called it off."

A few more steps of silence, Draco exhibiting uncharacteristic patience when she asks, "If I did go, would you want to come with me?" She's chewing her lip and looking at him from the corner of her eye. Draco can't work out if she even wants him to say 'yes'.

Not that he's eager to attend, but he doesn't know how he feels about her hesitation. Is she uncomfortable with the thought of having him there? Perhaps she thinks he wouldn't behave civilly. "Whatever would make you comfortable," he finally says, a bit stiff and definitely guarded.

She seems to pick up on that. "You don't seem like you particularly want to come."

"You don't seem like you particularly want me to."

Quietly, she admits, "I just think maybe some wounds are still fresh. Molly is still sad a lot because of Fred. And George… he has a lot of anger. Not to mention, Ron…"

Draco gives a brisk nod, understanding perfectly. "Right. Like the rest of Britain, I'm not welcome in polite society."

"No! Draco, that's not… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say you wouldn't be welcome. Molly would never turn you away, and Arthur is incredibly forgiving. It just might… be awkward."

"Yes, I understand too well." His irritation is evolving, and Draco feels an anger build he's been allowing to simmer underneath the guilt and regret. "It was awkward in the Atrium, as well, every witch and wizard in the place stopping everything to glare at me. And the owl post when a wizard nearly knocked me over only to berate me for being there at all. It's quite awkward seeing your pet Weasley eye-fuck you at the pub, only to disappear with him around the corner. I get fucking 'awkward,' Hermione."

Draco picks up his pace, aware that the witch has slowed hers to a stop. What is he even thinking? It's so safe, alone in their little world at Grimmauld. Even a restaurant or two. But where it really matters? Her Muggle family is gone, and the Weasleys are her next best thing. If he isn't welcome there, what future does that leave them?

He tries to envision knocking on the door of their home, Molly Weasley greeting him, but the scene twists into the woman raging at him, screaming at him to get out, that he as good as killed her son. Anger evolves into panic,shame, and he walks faster, unsure where to go. Draco ducks between two buildings just as he hears Hermione call his name and start after him. The moment he's out of sight, he spins in place to Apparate away, seeing her stricken face just as she rounds the corner to stop him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) Everlasting thanks to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal, and to everyone reading. Reviews are a blessing and I hope you are all doing well

After Draco leaves Hermione, he isn't sure where to go. Perhaps it's some old habit dying hard, maybe it's a longing for the only person left in Britain (besides Hermione) that cares for him, but he finds himself landing in Wiltshire, just outside the Manor gates.

There is a small amount of property between the Apparition line and the Muggle repelling charms and security wards that protect the gate. He pops back into existence with the ability to leave before anyone would know he's been here, the gate being the line that signifies guests to the house. But where the fuck would he go? Draco can't think clearly.

Part of him is ready to march through the gates and present his blood to the earth, taking ownership and feeling like he has control over his life.

Part of him, however, is thinking that he could still run if he wants to. He may have signed with the Ministry, but nothing is binding him to the land. He could leave all of it. Take what he has left of his galleons and make for the other side of the world.

The largest part of him knows that while he has to stay, for his parents if nothing else, the end result will hardly be the future he once envisioned. Instead, he can now imagine a life he doesn't like, virtually trapped in the manor with Lucius and Narcissa, three aging Malfoys eating alone in their huge dining room that seats fifteen, all the other chairs left empty. He can clearly see lonely days and solitary nights, passing his mother in a corridor with a polite nod, walking past his father's office door, always closed, never inviting. He imagines years will pass, and he will grow in anger and regret. His parents will expire in the house, likely after years of feeble existence and need for constant care, until, finally, Draco is left alone. No heir, no wife, no one to mourn him, and the Malfoy family will die anyway, the Sacred Twenty Eight down another line.

Of course, he knows he has choices. He could go back to Hermione right now and let her apologize and accept it without hesitation. Perhaps it's more than he deserves. As his ire cools, Draco is fully aware that he probably has no right to be angry… Not at anyone, but especially her. Though he knows that, it doesn't seem to soothe the hurt.

Nor the utter surprise. Hermione is the strongest, boldest witch he's ever known. If even she cannot face his demons at his side, it diminishes much of what little hope he has harboured in the past weeks.

With a sigh, Draco squares his shoulders and takes a breath. At the least, he has to go back to Grimmauld. Hermione will be worried for Benedick if he does not. Regardless that he feels nearly betrayed, he won't punish her in that way.

He takes one last look at the gates, knowing he will be back here soon enough, and Apparates back to Grimmauld. Back to her.

XXXXXXXX

Hermione makes her way home in a daze. She Apparates, though she hardly remembers it, and finds herself standing in Harry's foyer, trying to wrap her mind around what just happened. Draco's face when she had faltered…

She had known, of course, that Wizarding Britain has been less than forgiving of any former Death Eaters and supporters. But after these weeks, getting to know him as she has, Hermione doesn't see him as anything more than Draco. It wasn't until she was confronted with presenting him to the Weasleys, a family still reeling from the effects of war, that she considered what his presence might mean.

Harry finds her soon enough, standing there, shell-shocked as she is. He's searching low to the ground as he begins to speak before looking at her distressed face.

"Hermione, I haven't seen Benedick, and he's always here for dinner-... What's happened?"

She looks up, blinking. She tries to speak, but she can't quite figure out what she will say. It all sounds so silly, so banal.. ' _I had a fight with my boyfriend_ ' doesn't seem to capture the weight of it.

"I… Draco…"

"What did he do?" Harry is on her in a moment, hands laid gently on her shoulders and eyes searching hers. She shakes her head, a weak denial.

"Nothing… It was me."

"You?" He seems genuinely surprised, and she loves him for it, as if Hermione Granger is incapable of hurting anyone.

"I was thoughtless." She looks back at him, unable to explain beyond that, and takes a deep breath. "I need to go change, alright?"

Harry steps away, allowing her to escape. "Come back down when you can? I'll make something to eat, and we can talk about it."

She agrees and makes her way to the stairs. After plodding slowly up the steps, she enters her bedroom to find Benedick sneaking in the window. With a soft and sad smile, she sniffles and crosses the room. "Hello, darling." Picking him up, she holds him close, but finds that he is a bit stiff momentarily. She hopes he hasn't had a run in with any animals outside.

Benedick relaxes a bit as she starts to put him down. "Just a moment, and I'll get you something to eat."

With that, she selects the first cotton pyjamas she finds and changes out of her restrictive office wear. One last look in the mirror, and she exits the en suite to find Benedick watching the window. "Something interesting out there?" He doesn't react and she picks him up again to carry downstairs.

In the kitchen, Harry is throwing together sandwiches and looks up as she enters. "Oh, you found him."

"I did," she says fondly, scratching at the marten's head. "He was just coming home."

"Strange," he mutters, and selects a piece of turkey from a plate. He walks closer, and holds it out to her familiar. After a moment of hesitation, Benedick takes the piece. "He's always home when I get here."

Hermione isn't sure how to respond, so she shrugs and then places Benedick on the ground by his shallow bowl. "Do you have enough of that to give him a bit more?" she asks, gesturing to the turkey.

"You spoil him," Harry mutters. Hermione grins softly, knowing he does just the same.

She watches him place a bit of turkey in his dish. Benedick slowly takes a bite, seeming a bit less eager than usual. She hopes he's feeling alright.

Bringing the two plates to the table, Harry sits and gestures that she do the same before diving right in. "So what happened?"

Hermione lowers her head a bit, letting out a sigh before she speaks. "Percy invited us to the Burrow this weekend."

"Right. I suppose Malfoy couldn't be bothered? Not willing to mix with the riff raff?"

"Not at all," she denies. "He seemed willing. Not excited exactly, but willing."

Harry snorts a bit, amused and slightly disbelieving. "I may have to give him more credit, then. So what's the problem?"

Hermione tries to find the words, not sure herself what exactly was the issue. She's certainly not ashamed of him.

"I guess I thought maybe it was too soon. It will be hard on the family, facing someone with the Mark, you know? Maybe… I guess I thought I should make sure we're going somewhere before I put everyone through all that."

Her friend lets out a low whistle, and Hermione closes her eyes hard, understanding exactly what that sound means. She messed up, and Harry Potter is about to tell her about it.

"So if you're not sure things are serious enough to bring him 'round to your sort-of family, you don't think he would take that to mean that _you're_ not serious?"

She immediately denies the assertion. "But I am! Harry, I really am. I'm completely in love with the bastard." She shoots to her feet, beginning to pace. "Don't ask me how or why, Merlin knows I have no idea, but I am! And the worst part? I think he really cares about me, too. Against everything, his family, his upbringing… This isn't just some fling for me. Why on earth did I hesitate? For Molly bloody Weasley? As if she's ever hesitated where my feelings are concerned. It certainly can't be to protect Ron, prancing around with Lavender under my nose."

She's building into a right tear, frothing up quite nicely.

"And you know what else?!" she nearly screeches. "It doesn't matter what anyone thinks except for _me_ , and _I_ think he's bleeding wonderful!"

Hermione stops pacing to find Harry watching her with wide eyes. "I need to send him an owl. I refuse to let this misunderstanding drag into some melodrama. I'm going to owl him and ask him to meet me tomorrow so I can apologize properly. He stood up to his father for me, Harry. His family. I'm a complete idiot if I can't do the same for him."

She brushes her lips over Harry's cheek, muttering a distracted, "Thanks for listening," and makes her way to her room to compose a contrite letter.

Somewhere in the middle, Benedick comes poking into her room, seeming to glance over the paper. When she's done, she takes the message downstairs and asks Harry if he would mind terribly sending it off. He doesn't hesitate, dear friend that he is, and Hermione returns to her room with her familiar cuddled in her arms.

She feels exhausted, the evening early, but yet feeling like she's been awake for days. Readying herself for bed, she collapses under her duvet, grabbing Benedick and pulling him close. "I know you like to roam, but maybe don't go quite yet," she whispers into his fur. "Keep me company until I fall asleep, darling?" She strokes his back, and he settles in beside her, turning his head so his nose is pressed against her cheek.

"He'll forgive me, right?" she mumbles, sleepy and a little sad. "I'm not perfect, after all."

With a sigh, on the cusp of her mind drifting away, she adds in a soft, sleep-slurred voice. "I'd forgive him. I hope he loves me that much."

She doesn't feel it when the marten slips away, nor does she hear when the window squeaks upward and her familiar slips off into the night.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Of _course_ he's going to forgive her. Fuck, he's been lying to her about being her fucking pet for weeks. What right does he have to be offended? To be hurt? She's been utterly forgiving, and he's been a duplicitous cunt. He doesn't even want her to apologize now. He's heard more than enough, more than he deserves. He certainly doesn't deserve an apology, and he plans to tell her that post haste.

Draco makes his way to the owl post to collect her message. He watched her write it; knows exactly what it says. He thanks Harold absently and tosses a couple of coins on the counter.

He opens it carefully, finding her familiar scrawl within. There, the words he watched her write. Draco skims them to refresh his memory and formulates a response.

Harold scuttles around, making appearances at being terribly busy and not looking over Draco's shoulder with every pass. Ignoring the man, he pens a simple response, accepting her invitation and including his own apology from his abrupt departure earlier that day.

"Please have this arrive at eight in the morning, if you would." He throws in an extra coin for the specific request.

Harold pockets it, patting it as he agrees, and Draco nods his departure.

What he should do, he would suppose, is return to Grimmauld and curl up for some sleep, but he finds more guilt than usual at the idea. How can he cuddle up with her as she's lying there feeling wretched in regards to him? Over what? His petty hurt feelings? Walking the quiet streets outside the post, Draco squeezes his eyes closed and rubs his fingertips across his forehead.

In the end, he does return home but scuttles through her room and out her door into the house proper as she sleeps. There's a particular chair in the parlour of which he's quite fond. Heavily carved wooden legs and arms, back brocade with a scene of two lovers, it is time worn, almost a hundred years old. His mother has mentioned the chair in passing. A courting gift, she had said, from her uncle Orion to Walburga. In truth, Narcissa had confided to a young Draco, Orion had it made for a different witch, but she denied his suit. When Arcturus Black negotiated the betrothal to Walburga, Orion gifted it instead to her.

And all that interesting family history aside, it's incredibly comfortable. Draco suspects Cushioning Charms to be imbued into the seat.

Quietly, he creeps through the house, listening for sounds of Potter and finding none, before curling up in the seat of the chair and trying to quell his racing thoughts. His guilt and regret bubbling underneath agitation and nerves. He will refuse her apologies tomorrow. He will soothe her doubts. Draco doesn't need dinner with the Weasleys. It's not as if he had even wanted to attend. If all Hermione has to give is herself, it's more than enough.

Sleep is fitful and shallow, but it comes, and Draco fades in and out until morning light streams through the windows.

He stretches, arching his long, sleek back, tiny little claws digging into the upholstery. It is here that Potter finds him.

"Oi, not the chair!"

Draco is jarred by quick movement as Potter lifts him and deposits him on the floor. The tosser is running his hand over the fabric that had been Draco's very nice little bed.

"Shedding all over everything…" He's mumbling to himself, irritated. Potter seems dressed and ready for the day. Draco wonders after the time.

With a sigh, everyone's favourite wizarding savior turns his eyes downward to Draco. "Hungry, I suppose?"

Taking that as a cue, Draco trots himself into the kitchen. He is a bit, now that it's mentioned. He certainly won't turn down some fresh berries. They taste particularly sweet on his marten tongue, no cream required.

He hesitates in the doorway, finding Granger sitting there in mismatched pyjamas, a familiar parchment in her hand. After eight then, Draco can surmise.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were up." Potter has wandered in behind Draco and noticed Hermione as well.

She looks up with a moderately bright smile. "Morning, Harry. Oh! Benedick, there you are. Up early were we?"

Potter snorts. "Hardly. Lazy thing was asleep on Walburga's chair."

"I don't know why you even keep that thing. Garish monstrosity," she comments. Draco makes note; if their relationship survives the great marten debacle of '99, he will hire a decorator for their future home. That chair is a treasure, thanks.

"Post already arrived?" Potter comments absently as he goes about continuing what appeared to be breakfast preparation in the works, pulling berries from the pantry to add to the mix.

Her smile grows as she answers. "From Draco. He agreed to meet me today for lunch. Maybe I've not completely buggered this whole thing."

Her friend laughs, seeming surprised by her wry comment. "He'd be a fool not to forgive you. After everything? He's lucky to have you, and he must know it."

Her cheeks go a bit rosy, and she thanks him. "I don't get a free pass, though," she's quick to add. "He might not be perfect, but he's given everything for this relationship. He stayed in England, Harry. He wasn't even going to live here. Now look, hanging around a city that hates him, telling his father about us. If he is willing to go to the Weasleys, I shouldn't have been anything but grateful. Merlin, Harry, what if he's only meeting with me to tell me he's still angry? What if he ends things?" Her face has fallen, smile faded.

Draco fucking hates this. The last thing he wants is to listen to her berate herself when he wants nothing more than to kiss away her concerns and apologize for his reaction.

As she talks, Potter has done a lovely job of creating an artisan plate of various berries. He even includes a bit of egg from the scramble he is throwing together for himself and Hermione.

Laying two plates of eggs on the table, he sits and nudges Hermione's knee. "Here. Eat. Stop worrying. He says he's in love with you, yeah? You think he'll be so upset about Molly's over salted roast that he would give you up?" He smiles, and she answers with a watery laugh.

"She really does pack the salt in there, doesn't she?"

Turning the conversation to other things, Potter goes on about something Ministry related while Draco munches on his breakfast, zoning out and planning his lunch. He has so much he could say, that he _should_ say, bitter confession sitting on his tongue.

When his plate is clean, he makes his way to Hermione's feet and leans against her calf. She always seems to take this as a sign to pick him up. Draco could use the assurance of her touch.

"All finished, darling?" She lifts him, as anticipated, and sets him across her thighs. Pinching a bit of egg, remnants from her own plate, she offers it to him, and Draco takes it gently from her fingers. Hermione coos at him, praising him for his manners and stroking his neck.

If something terrible were to happen, if he were to be trapped in the body of a weasel for the rest of his days, he could be somewhat sated in the arms of Hermione Granger. He nuzzles her, comforted by her presence as much as he is choking on his ever-present guilt.

Fuck him, he loves this witch. What the fuck is he doing?

"I'm going to get ready for the day, I suppose. What does one wear to a lunch date to beg forgiveness?" She grins at Potter, a bit more mirthful than before.

"Something cut low on the top and short on the bottom, I would imagine," he quips, and she laughs as she leaves the table, Draco still held tight to her chest.

XXXXXXXXX

Hermione is positively vibrating when she arrives at the designated restaurant for her lunch with Draco. Staring at the door, she smoothes her hands down her denims and adjusts the shoulders of her fitted blue top. She went for simple with her attire, as if this is just an ordinary day. She hopes by the end of this conversation, it is.

Stepping into the space, her eyes scan and find Draco waiting for her, two water glasses sweating onto the table, a cup and saucer set at each place setting. He catches sight of her immediately and stands in greeting. Ever the gentleman, her pureblood wizard. She can't help but smile at him, elated when it's returned.

"Draco… Thank you so much for making time for me today. I am so so-"

"Stop, please." He has lifted his hand to request silence and gestures to the booth beside them. They are tucked back in the corner, and Hermione is grateful for the privacy. She takes her seat only to be nudged over when Draco sits beside her rather than across. She takes that as a good sign.

"Please, don't. I know you think you're here to apologize, but I won't hear it." Her heart plummets momentarily, hurt and confused, but he doesn't leave her floundering. "You never need to apologize to me. You had every right to hesitate, and you're right. I highly doubt the Weasleys would be thrilled to see me-"

"That's hardly the point," she interrupts. "Lucius Malfoy, I imagine, was less than thrilled about me, yet you still told him about us. You should expect the same courtesy from me."

He shakes his head at her, and she notices for the first time a bit of sorrow behind his eyes. "You don't owe me anything. And definitely," he says quickly as she tries to interject, " _not_ an apology." He searches her eyes, and Hermione feels he isn't finished. For once, she holds her tongue.

"I love you, Granger. Nothing changes that. I'm just hoping you can always say the same."

She nods emphatically, hands reaching for him and settling on his chest. "Of course, I can. But, Draco, you're making this way too easy on me. You deserve an apology and I am sorry," she rushes out before he can stop her. "So you might as well forgive me because to decline it would be terribly rude." She sits tall and gives a firm nod. _So there_ , her expression says. It's a petulant apology, and it tricks him into a grin.

"I'll forgive you anything," he says grandly, then falters. "Anything at all. Fuck, you deserve better than me. I wish I could…" She watches him trail off, warring with himself. Likely, his mind has drifted to whatever slight he has in his past, but now isn't the time for that. Today was her day for contrition, and she'll be damned if he makes it about whatever petty grievance he feels she should have.

She kisses him, leaning close and pressing her lips to his. Hermione is a bit horrified with herself when she feels her eye water and a tear slip down her cheek. When he pulls away, he sweeps it up with his thumb.

"None of that," he says softly, and she smiles at the kindness on his usually stoic face.

"I ordered you some tea," he tells her, and she looks down, chuckling in that broken way of nearly a sob.

"You're good to me," she says and means it, but finds him pensive when she looks to him for response.

"I'll be better," he says. "Someday, I promise, I'll be anything you want."

It's heavy, the air stifling, and she refuses to look deeper, think harder, on whatever this is that rests on his soul. So, instead of answering or asking or digging, she just kisses him again until the crease fades between his eyes, and he is smiling at her in that genuine way that makes her heart ache with warmth.

"Lunch?" he offers, and she picks up her menu while settling into his side.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratitude and adoration for my team LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal. I don't know that I tell them often enough how much I appreciate them :)
> 
> Boundless affection to all of you reading. I hope you are well and would love to hear from you in a comment. This chapter is a biggie...
> 
> Disclaimer: My Latin is googled. Don't expect too much lol

Draco doesn't think much more about the Weasleys in the days ahead. He is otherwise occupied with enjoying evenings with his witch, in both his marten form and otherwise, and his impending commitment to his family and legacy.

It's a dreary Tuesday in Wiltshire when he approaches the front gate, steeling his resolve and putting on his best unaffected expression. He finds his parents waiting for him in the Southern garden, expectant looks on their faces. They stand straight and proud in some of their best robes, coordinating in black silks with brocade trims.

"Draco." His father's voice is firm, but Draco thinks there is gratitude hidden beneath his typical pride. Narcissa nods with the hint of a smile, but doesn't speak.

Draco stops short of his parents at the end of a line drawn using powdered ingredients, a mix of potions and wand lore elements with magical properties, sulphur and salt amongst them. The lines are like spires, radiating from a single point, equidistant from the three Malfoys. Crossing the lines, a circle is likewise drawn, the powder darker in tone hinting at the dusted lava rock included. A small golden bowl rests in the center, lined with the blue feathers of a jobberknoll.

Days before, a missive had been waiting for Draco at the post with final instructions as to the ritual they are about to conduct. He and Hermione had been through it carefully, along with the texts from the Manor library, in preparation. Knowing his part, Draco pulls a small silver knife from his robes and readies his resolve.

His mother speaks first, reciting a simple incantation that asks the homestead to accept the bond. She is not required to let any blood, as hers, being of Black descent, is not tied to this land. Instead, she acts as initial binding, her magic reaching to caress the earth.

" _De fide recipere_."

Soft wind rustles the leaves of the cherry trees that line the nearby foot path, symbols of rebirth and renewal that are strategically placed to this consecrated ground.

Draco turns his eyes to his father.

Lucius, next, entreats the earth's magic to acknowledge their family's claim and right to its protection. He palms the blade of his own knife, his blood falling in controlled drips into the golden bowl.

" _Accipere_ _dominium nostrum. Da nobis praesidium_."

Another rustle of the trees, light whistling of the breeze through the branches, as if the air is punctuating the ritual with its acceptance.

Finally, it is Draco who must seal the connection, tying himself and his defendants to the dirt and the air. Without hesitation, he runs the silver blade along his palm in a shallow but sure slice. He steps forward and drips his lifeblood into the bowl, careful not to spill any outside the circle and watching it pool with his father's. Once bled, he casts a healing seal across the wound, watching as the skin knits itself together and leaving only a small scar in its wake. This scar, much like the Sectumsempra gash across his chest, will never heal. A price and a reminder that magic is never truly under the dominion of man.

" _Nos pertinent ad caelum et terram ._ "

The powdered symbols glow for but a moment, but Draco knows it's done. He feels calm in his bones and his blood, the earth beneath his feet grounding and secure. He feels a sense of belonging, of home, that he feels compelled to share with his family. Thoughts flit to Hermione and the future.

Suddenly, he can understand why his father has been ever-hesitant to leave. Even when Riddle had invaded their home, he seemed bound. Draco feels it now, that sense of symbiotic partnership with the land. It is his home and he is its steward. The grounds have never appeared more beautiful.

Looking up, he finds his father eyeing him with something like pride, something like envy.

"It's done," the man says. "You can feel it, can't you?" he asks with reverence.

Draco nods and glances at his mother. She gives him a cautious smile. He pities her, never knowing such a complete feeling of home.

After a beat of quiet, even the breeze fading to silence, Narcissa speaks, addressing both of her wizards. "Come on, then; let's see to the house. I don't expect Pipsy to know how I've decided I'd like my draperies."

With quick steps, she takes to the Manor. Her husband grins after her, watching her with adoration before turning to his son. "Shall we? Perhaps she will trust the elf to make tea at least."

Draco smiles in spite of himself and starts to follow his family into their home. Before he can disappear into the house, however, he stops to look behind him. The day that had seemed dreary is now merely appropriate. There is a melancholy in the passage time. What had been his father's for decades, had been _his_ father's before, is now Draco's by right of magic and by blood. His eyes sweep the landscape, and he silently thanks the land, knowing he is truly bound. For better or worse, he is rooted to England. The magic thrumming in his blood calls him, and leaving, though it hasn't been a priority since a bossy little witch fell into his life, is no longer in the cards.

They take tea in the solarium. His mother eventually excuses herself in favour of overseeing repairs to the dining room. Lucius, likewise, pardons himself and sets about righting the long disused receiving rooms.

Draco spends the afternoon wandering the eastern wing, eyeing the suites on the far side of the Manor from his parents' western residence. He supposes he can't imagine he will live at Grimmauld forever, regardless of whatever happens between himself and Hermione. Preparing for an unknown future, he stares out the window of the southern most room, shedding his youth and selecting a new bedroom for his inevitable return.

* * *

It's a rare thing for Draco to show up unannounced, yet here we are. Hermione takes him in, finding his expression to be complicated with more emotion than he usually shows. She stands aside and invites him in, explaining that Harry is out so they have the house to themselves.

He holds a rolled parchment in his hands, fingering it nervously all the while. They sit, and Hermione cuddles close, happy to see him but slightly concerned. "Is everything alright?"

His hand closes over hers where she has laid it on his knee. "I've accepted my inheritance," he tells her. "Officially."

She turns his hand over and traces the scar on his palm that she suspected she would find. "It won't fade, will it?"

"No. A reminder of my covenant with the magic of the earth. A small price."

She nods in answer, more than familiar with magical scars. Pointing to the missive in his other fist, she asks, "And that? Something related to the ritual?"

Almost as if he'd forgotten he had it, he denies, "Oh. No, this is something entirely different. Slightly unsettling," he adds with a slight grin. She's happy to see the expression. "It's an invitation owled over this afternoon. Here."

Draco handing it over, she accepts and unrolls the parchment. Inside, she finds the slightly messy penmanship of Molly Weasley.

_My Percy tells me you are a bit of a fixture in our favorite Muggle-born's life. Since I can never seem to drag that girl here on my own, perhaps you could convince her to visit. We eat on Sundays at one. You don't need to bring anything but yourself and my wayward Hermione. Though, wine is never turned away._

Hermione is stunned. "She invited you?" she asks, slightly dumbfounded.

"So it would seem."

She looks over to find Draco watching her. "We don't have to go," he adds. "That is, _I_ don't have to go."

She huffs at him, handing the paper back and fighting a smile that's winning the battle with her lips. "Of course we do. She's never sent a _written_ invitation before. I can hardly turn that down."

Draco is studying her, unsure. "If you'd rather go alone, I do understand."

"Nonsense." She interrupts him without hesitation. "We're going." Seeing his eyes dart between hers, disbelieving, she takes his hands and presses on. "I've given you the impression I didn't want to take you, but that's not it at all. I want to take you _everywhere_ , Draco. I'd be with you everyday if you'd let me."

She feels suddenly unsure and drops her eyes, hoping she hasn't offered too much of herself. Hoping the feelings are, as they say, mutual. Distantly, she hears the clock begin to note the hour. It doesn't even reach the second set of chimes before he lifts her chin and kisses her softly. "Potter might take exception when I show up more frequently, but fuck him; anything you want."

All nervousness abated, Hermione laughs then kisses him back hard. She trails sensual kisses across his jaw to his ear then pauses to whisper, "Molly likes horrible sweet whites. I have a bottle of cheap Riesling on standby."

He laughs heartily at that and pulls her onto his lap, her legs straddling him as his mouth seeks hers. She's eternally grateful that Harry is out for the night, punctuated with clarity when her knickers hit the floor in the middle of the parlour, her beautiful wizard backlit by the soft glow of the moon through the window as he moves with purpose beneath her. She climaxes twice before he finds release, her face buried in his neck, indulging in the feel of his erratic pulse.

It's late when he says he should go, nearing midnight. They stand at the front door of Grimmauld, hands clasped between them. "I'm going to make an effort at spending some time at the Manor," he says. "I've even chosen a master suite."

She smiles, happy for him and his attempts to adjust. And, secretly, selfishly, giddy that his attempts to leave England are more officially thwarted by even more than his relationship with her. Seeing him take to his decision, making forward-thinking plans, gives her hope that he will not regret his choices. She smiles at him broadly. "Benedick will appreciate you clearing out. He never seems to come around when you're here."

His smile falters, and she hopes she hasn't offended him. Maybe he doesn't care for animals. That will have to be addressed as the relationship progresses but not today.

Rather than commenting, he puts a semblance of his previous smile on his face and leans in to kiss her. "I'll owl you tomorrow," he tells her. "I need some guidance on what one wears to a Weasley Sunday roast."

With a snort, she assures him, "Anything you want. I promise whatever you choose will be overdressed."

With one last cheeky grin, he opens the door and steps out into the night. "Goodnight, pretty witch."

"Goodnight, Draco," she answers on a happy exhale, closing the door slowly between them.

* * *

Draco, as usual, slips back around Grimmauld that night and up into Hermione's room, scaling the tree with his tiny paws and slinking through the window. She coos and cuddles him, whispering that he's a very sweet thing and how she only wishes he would come around when her wizard is on site. She grins as she readies for bed, humming all the while.

Even the guilt of his deception can't completely diminish the pride he feels at leaving her so obviously content. He remembers when the summer began and her moods were melancholy more often than not. How she had cried frequently, wetting his fur with her tears, her heart pounding in her chest as her body wracked with sobs.

Now, she smiles often. It's a dangerous thing to allow himself the justification, but can he be truly awful for his ruse when it has brought her joy? What would have happened to Hermione Granger if Draco had hitched a proverbial ride with another student and vanished to parts unknown? Would she have wasted away in this bedroom, Potter galavanting about with Weasley and Nott? Would her days have consisted of too-long hours at the Ministry, only to return to an empty house?

He has to do something, of course, about this whole affair. He _knows_ this... But not yet. Not until he can find a way to do so and keep her happy. Perhaps he can orchestrate Benedick finding his real home. Maybe he could enlist the help of a fellow Slytherin. Not Theo. He's too close to the Gryffindors, but if he could just find someone else…

Draco sleeps fitfully, mind racing in circles as to whom might be of assistance, might owe him a favour, but not even entirely sure the idea has merit. In the end, he wakes early, or late, depending on your perspective, and makes his way to the window at just past three.

Shambling clumsily down the tree, he's exhausted, beady eyes a bit bleary. Draco thinks he is probably lucky he didn't hurt himself as he resumes his form and pulls himself up to full height. He brushes dust and grime from his person, always a bit irritated by the bits of fluff that stick to his fur on his low belly and his short legs. Perhaps there isn't any at all, but he always feels like he's sweeping up as he scampers so low to the ground. He sighs, ready to make his way to the Manor to try and sleep alone, but with the snap of a twig, his eyes flit up to lock with the green gaze of a seething Harry Potter.

"You utter bastard." The tone is quiet. Seething.

Draco knows fear, similar to being stared down by a dog in his animagus body, when Potter starts to charge him from across the garden.

"I'll _kill_ you, you nasty little ferret-"

"You can't tell her!" Draco blurts out in a stage whisper, voice as low as one can scream and arms instinctively held in front to protect his face. "You can't say anything, Potter, _please_."

Amazingly, the wizard stops and gives Draco a look he isn't sure he could properly describe. His eyes somehow squint and blow wide all at once, the corner of one positively twitching in anger.

"Are you fucking _serious_ right now?!" he whisper-yells back. "How am I going to _not_ tell her?"

"Because it would kill her, you knob! Completely _destroy_ her. You can't do that."

"Oh, well, you should have thought of that before you started this…" He gestures wildly to Draco's person, mouth working as he searches for words. "This… whatever evil scheme this is!"

"It's not-" He stops, lowering his voice further to a hiss, mindful of the proximity to the window of the witch in question. "It's not an evil scheme, alright? It was… it was like an accident. I didn't intend for this, but you can't… Merlin, Potter, just _think_. You know how much this will hurt her."

"Of course it will!" He has the decency to also soften his voice to an even lower volume, for which Draco is grateful. "But that's on _you_. I won't stand here and let you take advantage of her-"

"Take advantage?! The fuck do you think I'm doing? Having my way with her with my tiny marten paws? I'm just… she needed someone, alright? She was lonely and for some ridiculous reason, I ended up being what she was clinging on to."

Potter seems to be at a loss for words for a moment, but then shakes his head and asks, "How did this even happen? How do you _accidentally_ end up someone's bleeding pet?"

Draco sighs, leaning his head back to stare into the heavens just briefly. He collects his thoughts and decides on a half truth for the git.

"She found me. On the grounds before we left Hogwarts. She thought I was some lost familiar… that my wizard had died or something."

The other man huffs at that. "She can never resist picking up the unloved."

Draco levels a look at the orphan turned martyr that says a lot about other lost causes his witch has picked up.

There is a moment of silent reflection before either speaks again. Finally, Potter squeezes the bridge of his nose in frustrated indecision and asks, "If I were to even consider keeping this secret… _for now_ … what is your plan, eh? How do you intend to break away with any amount of damage control?"

"I don't know. I… maybe I can find her a new familiar? Gift her one as myself…"

Potter looks downright irritated. "You really think she's the type of person to just replace one beloved creature with another? Do you even _know_ her?"

The question strikes Draco in a way he doesn't like at all. He _does_ know her, thanks very much. "I'm not saying she won't miss the marten, but she did replace that kneazle with me."

"She mourned that blasted cat for two years, Malfoy," Potter hisses back.

Grumbling, Draco admits, "Well, I'm still here, as you can see. I've obviously not quite worked out my exit yet, and I won't just abandon her."

"So, what? You keep sleeping in her bed and cuddling up with her, and you think this ends in any way without her being completely heartbroken?"

The resurrected anger in Potter's voice pushes Draco back to frustration as well.

"Look, I'm trying, alright? I was supposed to be in Aruba by now, but I stayed. For _her_. At least I'm doing something, Potter. Where were you when she was crying herself to sleep not so long ago? Where were her friends when she was so lonely she was taking a fucking animal on outings just to have something to do? Where were you when she was willing to have tea with Draco Death Eater Malfoy? Nowhere. You were all fucking nowhere, and she needed someone; so I let it be me."

The wizard is staring at him as if he's been physically struck by the short tirade. Finally, Potter nods and agrees, "Maybe I wasn't there like I should." Draco snorts, but doesn't say anything yet, sensing the man isn't finished. "Though I've been trying to remedy that. She's always been the strong one. Sometimes, it's easy to forget she is the most compassionate between us."

He's lost for a moment, staring into the distance, then his green eyes snap back on Draco and he continues. "I'll give you a few days, Malfoy. Merlin knows, I don't want to have to tell her this either. But you had better come up with a plan. I can't keep this from her forever."

Draco nods. "Acceptable." He pauses then offers a bit more truth. "Despite what you may think, I don't have a grand scheme. I'm not gaining anything from this."

Potter tilts his head, acknowledging. Draco takes that as his dismissal and starts toward the garden gate.

"Oi, Malfoy."

His hand is on the gate, and he's nearly out into the Muggle neighborhood. He pauses and looks back, waiting for whatever warning or threat Potter is about to heroically bestow.

"Thanks, alright." He grimaces as if the words pained him to say. "I mean, it's a rubbish situation, and you're a complete cock, but… I'm just surprised you wanted to stay around. She does seem happy. Not sure if that's because of you as a wizard or you as a marten, but I suspect it's both."

Draco nods, considering walking away without responding. Finally, he shrugs, and says simply, "I love her," then makes his way out into the night.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and thanks to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal, and all of you! Would love to hear from you in a comment!

Draco drags himself from Grimmauld back to the Manor, Inferi-like and worn. Of course he won't fucking sleep tonight. The very idea is ludicrous now. His good mood has vanished into ether, and he's weary in a way he's not felt in weeks. Guilt, previously tempered by the progress in Granger's happiness, is back in full force, now with a heaping dose of fear blanketing him like ice. He's fucking terrified, self-preservation begging him to run. Or kill fucking Potter. Or… something.

The only solace he finds is the healing comfort of ancestral magic, the Manor humming to him, seeming content to have him home.

Pipsy greets him once he enters his new rooms. "Pipsy is happy to see Master. Does Master require anything?"

"No, Pipsy," he answers wearily, scrubbing his hand down his face. "I'll be leaving before breakfast. Don't mention that I was here to Mother or Father."

The elf looks at him with wide eyes and pulls on his over-long ear, dragging it down to the point of pain, and he winces.

"Stop that," Draco barks, slapping the elf's hand away. "Speak whatever is on your mind."

"Pipsy was asked to tell Mistress when Master returns. Pipsy cannot disobey Master _or_ Mistress."

Fuck, could this night get better? Draco grabs his robes that he has only just shed and makes his way to the door. "Tell her I dropped by for only a moment then," he growls out. "But, in the future," he adds, levelling the elf with an annoyed look, "my schedule is my own. As Lord of Malfoy Manor, this is the last time you will report to anyone about me. Understood?"

The elf nods eagerly, happy for the clarity that removes any need to interpret future action, as Draco stomps from the room, cursing his mother for preempting him.

Ultimately, he goes to Nott, though he questions the intelligence of the choice all the way past the moment that the door swings open. Theo stares at him for a moment, seeming to be honestly surprised. Then he masks anything other than his usual haughty flippancy and steps to the side. "Well, well, isn't this an honor?"

"Isn't it?" Draco asks, a smirk in place he doesn't feel. He walks straight into the eastern parlour and sits without invitation or ceremony. He feels a bit at home in a plush fireside where he has spent many evenings in the past.

Theo busies himself pouring two glasses of firewhiskey and delivers one to Draco before taking a seat to his left. "I hear congratulations are in order."

Draco sips the liquid, feeling it burn down his throat in that pleasant yet horrible way that it has. He looks at Theo with as much of a bored expression as he can muster, assuming the topic at hand to be his inheritance.

"It was always going to happen," he comments. "Just perhaps sooner than Lucius intended."

His friend laughs at that. "Condolences to him, then. I'm surprised to see you. You spend so much time with your Gryffindor these days..."

"You spend a fair amount of time in the lions' den as well," Draco feels smug when Theo glances just slightly to his right. It's an old tell, one the wizard has had since he was in nappies.

"Not as much as all that," Theo denies with a flippant wave of his hand. "I'm sure they will tire of me soon enough."

"Who could ever?" Draco counters with a sarcastic drawl.

They chuckle, then Theo levels him with a look. "To what do I owe this very late at night visit?"

Draco hedges, hoping to sound casual. "Who else would be up in the middle of the night to relieve me my boredom?"

"Granger not keeping your attention, then? I'm afraid you're hardly my type."

"And you're certainly not mine," he agrees, trying very hard to ignore the twinge of regret her very name brings.

Theo, however, perceptive little prick that he is, notices. "Ah, trouble on that front, it seems. I was under the impression from Potter that she is quite taken with you. Have you tired of her then?"

"I've not," Draco answers quickly. It certainly wouldn't do for any hesitation to make its way back to Hermione. "I'm just not sure…" Fuck, he hates this. Draco is not the confessional type, and the more people that know, the more dangerous it is. It's bad enough anyone knows at all.

"Not sure you have a future?" Theo guesses. In a roundabout way Draco would suppose that's about the size of it.

"You could say that. There's a lot between us. Maybe too much."

"I get the idea," he ventures, "that your concerns are one sided. Granger seems nothing but enamoured with your pale arse."

"Yes, well, Granger doesn't know all the things I've done."

Standing, Theo paces closer and looks down at Draco, more serious and intense than he can ever remember seeing the wizard before. "This all sounds very familiar. I seem to remember you whining about all of this not so long ago. Anyway, she may not know, but _I_ do. You haven't done anything worse than what she does know. She's forgiven you, Malfoy. I'm certain of it."

Feeling miserable and looking probably twice as bad, Draco says nothing and watches as Theo studies him. Eventually, Theo's face falls into something akin to horror. "Something more that even _I_ don't know? Dear Merlin, what did He make you do?" Theo asks in a whisper.

Draco shakes his head then takes a very long pull of whiskey. "It's nothing like that. Nothing I did for _Him_. Not even… fuck, Theo, it's isn't even dark. It's just… I did something really shite to Granger, and I don't know how to tell her."

"Do you have another witch?"

Draco snaps his head back to Theo, expecting to see a teasing glint or half smirk, only to find the man completely serious. "Why does everyone think that? She asked me the same. And no," he adds quickly, seeing Theo start to interrupt, "I haven't been with another witch. Fuck, I haven't had a witch so much as look at me since last year. Not until Granger."

"Then what could you possibly have done?" Considering him, Theo drops back in his chair and cups his chin with his hand. "You've been loyal, you're obviously besotted, you stayed in England for her… what more could a witch ask for."

Draco huffs at that. "Honesty?" he offers, almost under his breath.

"Then be fucking honest," Theo says casually, like it's just so easy, before taking a drink of his own liquor.

"You don't understand." Draco feels petulant; he _sounds_ petulant. But this isn't some small thing. How is he supposed to just tell her? "There's no way I can tell her this and it not completely break her heart."

"And waiting will make it hurt less then?" Theo asks with a bit of sarcasm, swirling his whiskey in his glass. "There's some expiration date on her taking offense?"

"Of course not," he bites back. "She-" but he doesn't get far when he's interrupted by the sod and his two-sickle wisdom.

"Then I don't see as how waiting is doing anything to help your case. Tell her. She either forgives you or she doesn't, but in the meantime, you're just getting attached to a situation that might not really belong to you."

Draco is quiet for a long time, jaw clenched and mind racing. He's not wrong, the fucker. It won't get easier, and nothing is going to change the reality. She will eventually learn the truth, and it will be on her to forgive or not. Everything else is just dragging out the heartache. This is why he comes to Theo if he's honest. (Which, as everyone can likely tell, is not a common occurrence.) The man has a very odd way of making too much sense, especially when it isn't what you want to hear.

Finally, Draco sits back in the chair hard, a breath leaving his lungs. He looks at Theo to find their gazes meet, and there's some taste of sympathy in his eyes. Not liking that, he just pouts out a very sincere, "Go fuck yourself, Nott."

Somehow, his friend knows what Draco means and sits back in his own chair, mimicking his defeated posture in solidarity. "Want another whiskey?" he asks, not unkindly.

"Yeah."

His friend pours more liquid into the glass and retakes his seat. "So, do you want to tell me what you've done then?"

Draco considers that. Does he? Now that Potter knows, the idea of telling Theo doesn't have to seem as revealing. A secret between two people is nowhere near as private as something you hide within yourself. More people involved increases the risk, but it would be nice to have someone who is truly on his side. "How close are you and Potter?"

Theo shifts in his seat. Interesting.

"We're friendly enough. Why do you ask?"

Shooting the rest of the whiskey as if it's nothing more than cheap swill, Draco leans forward, arms resting on his knees. "I've known you a long time, Nott. How friendly? You and Corner in sixth year friendly?" He raises a brow and waits for the tell. On cue, Theo glances to the right. Draco nods, satisfied. "That's answer enough," he tells him.

Feeling restless, Draco stands to continue his confession, pacing the room. "I may as well tell you then, because I'm sure Potter will eventually."

Theo is taken aback. "Harry knows?"

"Why do you think I've turned up in the middle of the night? To look at your wretched face?"

Theo gives the obligatory, "Fuck off," then bids Draco to continue. "You're right, though. May as well tell me now."

Draco feels his heart pound in his ears, his hands shaking slightly. Being discovered by Potter was one thing; admitting his guilt is something else entirely. He levels his friend with a look, only now stopping to consider that Theo might also be cross that such a large secret has been kept from him. He hadn't even let on that he was learning the Animagus transformation.

With a deep breath, he locks his gaze and wills his body to transform, shrinking down into his marten form. A blink, and he reverses the spell, standing braced, awaiting judgment.

"Well, fuck me," Theo breathes out, and stands from his chair, leaving his glass behind. "Do it again."

Draco sighs, but does as requested, staying just a few beats longer as his animal while Theo circles him, studying with narrowed eyes.

"You're her ruddy familiar, you prick. How the fuck does that even happen?"

Retaking his wizard form for a final time, Draco carries his glass to the decanter and pours a generous three fingers without invitation. "Completely by accident. It's how I left Hogwarts. Part of my _cunning plan_ ," he says with a bit of sarcastic self deprecation, "to slip away without anyone knowing how to find me. But _she_ found me… and I've been with her since."

Theo shakes his head. "And Potter caught you out?"

Nodding, Draco confirms. "I was sloppy. I never transform near the house, but I did, and now he knows. Says he won't tell her yet, but my time of… caution… is at its end."

"What the fuck is there to be cautious about?" Theo asks, incredulous. "You tell her or you don't. Why has it even gone on this long?"

Is it breaking her trust to reveal Hermione's sorrowful state when she found him? Perhaps not since she didn't _tell_ Draco so much as he picked up on it over a few short days. Theo likely has seen hints for himself.

"I tried to leave. As soon as she brought me home, I was looking for an escape, but she was always there at first. She was fucking sad, Nott. When I finally left, I ran into her, and she was searching for this stupid marten and looking destroyed. So… I went back." He shrugs, like that sums it up. He supposes in a way, it does.

It's a credit to Theo's odd sensitivity that he seems to grasp the finer points without much in the way of detail. "Maybe you could… find her a new familiar?"

Draco shakes his head in the negative. "Don't, alright? I've been through all of this. I can't replace myself or run away or do anything to take the marten out of the equation without leaving her bereft. I have to tell her." Theo starts to argue, but Draco cuts him off. "And I won't keep lying to her about this. I promised her I would be honest. She doesn't know about what, but I've been trying to tell her this for weeks."

"Granger is… pretty forgiving," Theo ventures, and Draco nods in agreement. "But everyone has their limit," he finishes with regret in his voice.

Draco throws back at least two fingers of the three and reaches for the decanter again. "I know."

* * *

They drink until dawn. By the time the sky has bled back into blue, Draco isn't sure if he's drunk or hungover as he stumbles home. The fact that he doesn't splinch himself is a Gods-be-damnXed miracle, and he just barely makes it up his tree in a shaky marten body, slipping through the window while Granger showers in her attached bath.

He doesn't know what he will say, no idea how he can make her understand, but he has to tell her. Potter was oddly kind to hold his tongue, but the git was right: he can't hide this forever.

Decision made, Draco lets himself slip to sleep, resolved to be honest with his witch…

But not today. He watches Hermione slip from the room, the feel of her lips on his furry head lingering. Just another day or two. In case this is the end, he just wants a few more days to love her.

* * *

Hermione finds Benedick to be a bit absent the next day. He manages to drag himself downstairs at meal times, but mostly he naps in the parlour. Harry is also a bit scarce. She is feeling a touch abandoned, but tries not to let it weigh on her. Everyone is allowed an off day. In the evening, she curls up with a book and brings Benedick to her room with her, cuddling beneath her bedclothes. She leaves the window open for Benedick's eventual roaming, noting a chill in the air as summer is giving way to autumn. She's content mostly, only wishing Draco were with her as well.

Soon enough, she knows, allowing herself a secret smile as she thinks of him fondly. He even agreed to visit the Weasleys. Knowing the bad blood between them, it strikes her just how much he has changed.

When she turns in, she douses the light by her bedside with her wand and kisses her marten on his head. "You've been so sweet to stay with me all night. I know you want to roam. Have fun, darling." She sets him gently on the floor and curls in on herself, happier than she can remember being in quite some time and looking forward to the next day. Every day, since her new life has started, is a gift.

When she wakes, quite rested, she's almost surprised to find Benedick beside her, imagining he would either stay out all night or be downstairs looking for breakfast from Harry. Hermione lifts him to carry with her and makes her way to the kitchen to find her friend.

Harry stiffens a bit when she enters but tries not to show it. He seems slightly off yet again, but she makes no mention. She's convinced more than ever he might have a secret. She hopes it's a good one.

"Morning, Harry," she tries brightly, setting Benedick down next to his empty bowls. Usually, Harry has something waiting for him, but it seems he has not had the chance yet today. No matter; the marten is her responsibility after all. "Do we have any salmon left?"

"You know, I"m not sure that we do," he says, looking down at the Prophet in his hand rather than her. "Might find some raspberries, though they were looking a bit soft."

The berries in question are more than a bit soft. They appear to be about two days from molding.

She casts a quick charm to freshen them up and puts them in Benedick's bowl. "I'll stop by the grocer on the way home," she comments absently. Harry only hums in reply.

Though he has a plate of eggs waiting for her, breakfast with Harry remains slightly tense. She doesn't want to pry, but eventually she asks if everything is alright as she gives her marten a bit of egg from her fingertips. Harry watches the action with narrowed eyes.

Looking back to her face, he smiles, though it's almost a grimace. "It's fine. Just having an off couple of days." There's a long pause during which he seems to keep glancing at her marten rather than at her. Benedick, on the other hand, is resolutely only looking her way. "How are things with Malfoy?"

He hasn't really asked after her relationship in some time. Since it's been pretty established, there hasn't been much need. She looks at him curiously but answers anyway. "Good. The same. I didn't see him yesterday, but I think we have dinner tonight."

"Hm."

Hermione doesn't like the sound of that 'hm.' "Harry Potter, stop being mysterious. What has you all worked up?"

It is evident to Hermione that her friend is conflicted. He continues not to be able to look her in the eye, instead keeping his gaze fixed on her pet.

After a long pause and dead quiet, he suddenly says loudly, "I spoke to Nott yesterday." Benedick starts at the sound of his voice. Odd for her familiar to be so jumpy. "He'd seen Draco the other night," he continues. "Said it seemed like something might be bothering him, so I wondered if he'd said anything."

Hermione is feeling wary and unsure. "He seemed fine last I saw him," she assures, continuing to study her friend. It's a stand off of awkward tension until finally Harry rubs the back of his neck and sighs.

"Right, well, I just wanted to make sure everything was alright."

"That's sweet of you," she says, though she's not entirely convinced it is. "You and Nott seem close," she adds, hedging. She's been suspicious for awhile now but was certain Harry would come to her if there was anything to tell. Maybe that's why he sounds so shifty? Trying to keep his new friendship secret. Their body language last time at the pub hinted at a closeness she is very curious to learn about.

If anything, he grows a bit more uncomfortable, eyes darting to Benedick once again. "He's, er, Theo, that is — we get on well."

"I noticed," she says with what she hopes is a reassuring smile. "I find him rather agreeable myself," she adds, silently prompting with support in case he wants to share.

"It's a very new… friendship," Harry works out. "Not what I expected."

Hermione nods, still supportive, still reassuring. "He and Draco have been friends since childhood," she comments, but that seems to only make Harry close off once more. He closes the Prophet from the table and stands.

"I need to head to the Ministry," he says. "Early meeting with Robards."

"Oh, of course. Maybe see you for lunch?"

Harry bustles around, putting his cup in the sink and setting the dishes to wash themselves. "Probably not today," he says. "See you tonight, though." And with that, he is gone.

Hermione looks down at Benedick who seems to be staring at the door. "Well, he's apparently struggling with something," she comments then picks up her marten and nuzzles his neck with the tip of her nose. "He's so obvious," she stage whispers. "I think he has something going on with a wizard behind my back." She chuckles a little, hardly noticing that Benedick seems to stiffen in her hold.

* * *

Draco storms into the Ministry, careful to stay clear of the floor where Hermione works and right into Auror Potter's office. The door is closed, but a quick detection charm tells him no one else is inside. Draco enters without knocking and slams the door behind him.

"Malfoy? What the f-"

"What is wrong with you, you prick? I thought you were going to give me time?"

Potter stands from behind his desk and grabs his wand. For one brief, horrifying moment, Draco's memories flash to their duel in sixth year, and he is afraid he miscalculated many things. He's relieved when Potter merely sends a Locking Spell at his door.

"I gave you all day yesterday, Malfoy, and all you did was cozy up to her, cuddled against her… breasts… like the utter tosser you are!"

"I was fucking hungover," he nearly yells back. "Of which I'm sure you're aware since you spent the day with your lips around Theo's cock."

The git sputters at that, trying very hard to make excuses and denials. "Don't bother, Theo as good as admitted. Look, I couldn't care less about all that, and if you two are sneaking around about it, I don't know who I'd even tell. Granger basically knows-"

"She knows?"

"Suspects," he amends. "It doesn't matter. The point is, your secret isn't the problem here. You're supposed to be helping me protect her from mine."

"Or what, you'll say something about me and Theo? That's low, even for you."

"No, _Potter_ , or nothing. I'm not out to betray Theo, or even you for that matter. I'm trying to do right by _her_. But I need time and you said you'd give it."

They stare at each other for a long time, all the fight seeming to go out of them. Finally, Potter sits and asks in a quieter tone. "How much? How much time? Lying to her… I don't _do_ this, Malfoy. I don't like to lie to her. I feel bad enough keeping Theo from her, but that's only until his father receives the Kiss. Once that's done, Theo inherits, and he's free to make his own choices."

Feeling defeated himself, Draco falls down into the chair opposite Potter, staring at the window charmed to show a sunny afternoon. "I don't know. You have no fucking idea how much this kills me. I'm not enjoying this little charade, despite what you may think. I just kept thinking… if I waited, maybe I'd find a way. Give her a new pet or find a way for Benedick to be gone… I've only just accepted that's not going to happen."

He looks back at Potter and finishes, "Whatever happens, I'm going to tell her, and just pray it doesn't hurt her too much."

"Theo wants to help you. Come up with some brilliant plan to get you out of this mess."

Draco smiles a little, grateful in spite of himself, but then promptly frowns and asks, "And you? I suppose you'd like to watch me fuck it all up so Granger never wants to see me again."

"No, actually, you overgrown weasel, I want to see Hermione happy. I just don't see a way to make that happen without her mourning either a pet or a boyfriend. Otherwise, killing off the marten would be my first suggestion," he says with a nasty grin.

"You can be fucking terrifying, you know that, Potter?" Draco crosses his arms over his chest, adopting a rather petulant position.

"I am the Savior of the Wizarding World," he says with a shrug and a smile. Draco isn't sure if that's confirmation or denial.

Draco leaves not long after, looking back at Potter as he lays his hands on the knob of the door. "For what it's worth, which might be very little, I really didn't plan for this. If I'd known…"

He hesitates. What would he have done if he had known? He thinks of Hermione's warm eyes and delicate hands, her lips turned up into a smile, curls blowing softly around her face. Would they have ever made it to this place if he hadn't been there in the form of unconditional love when her heart was so closed?

"I don't know what I would have done," he admits. "Maybe the exact same stupid shite. But I'm not giving her up without a fight. Not unless she herself asks me to."

He prays all the way back to Grimmauld that she doesn't.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and thanks to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal, and everyone of you wonderful readers.

Hermione finds Draco to be incredibly attentive on Friday and Saturday. He invites her to accompany him to both Muggle and Wizarding London, keeping her out quite late on Friday after she finished at the Ministry, then commandeering her entire afternoon and evening the next day. He is sweet and thoughtful, and, if it's possible, she might be even more smitten than she was before.

She tells Harry as much on Saturday, and he grimaces but makes no comment. She hopes that someday her easy friendship with her best friend will trump his distaste for the Slytherin, but, in the meantime, at least he is holding his peace.

On Sunday morning, Hermione is nervous and answers the door for an equally flustered Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it wouldn't be obvious to most people, but Hermione has spent enough time with him in the past months that she can see it. The set of his jaw, cool expression in his eyes… This is how he protects himself.

Inviting him in, she does a quick spin to ask if she looks alright. It tricks him into a smile.

"Digging for compliments, Granger?"

She huffs good-naturedly and denies it. "Not at all. I just want to look nice on your arm today."

He pretends to give her a very studious once over, frowning a little in concentration and his fingertips resting at his chin. His eyes rove her body down then back up before he steps forward and tilts her face up for a soft kiss. Her breath hitches as he looks down at her, expression serious, eyes smouldering, and leans in to whisper against her lips.

"It'll do."

Hermione laughs, all the tension in her snapping as she slaps him lightly on the shoulder. Draco answers her laughter with his own before pulling her back by her hand into his space.

"You look beautiful, as always," he amends, and she lets him kiss her, much deeper than before.

They are interrupted by a voice that sounds on the verge of gagging. "Really? You know, you have a room for that."

Pulling back but only feeling slightly embarrassed, Hermione lays her forehead on Draco's chest for a moment, then turns to face her friend.

Harry has one foot propped on a small table near the door, lacing a boot. Her father would certainly have something to say about his treatment of the woodwork. Shrugging off the thought, she takes in Harry's attire and asks, "Quidditch today?" She had sort of hoped he would be coming with her to the Weasleys. If nothing else, having at least one unsurprised person in the room sounds nice.

"At the Burrow," he explains to her relief, then pauses for a moment, looking conflicted. With a sigh, he turns his body to more fully face Draco's direction. "Malfoy, I could grab you a spare broom. We usually do a casual game when George and Bill can both be there."

Hermione can nearly feel Draco's pulse quicken, but he answers smoothly. "I'm sure you have your teams all lined out. Wouldn't want to intrude."

Hermione looks back at Harry and frowns when he looks relieved. She tips her head slightly to the side, giving him some serious pleading from her gaze. _Try harder_ , she's thinking at him, knowing he's her closest thing to an ally today.

Harry closes his eyes hard once, then argues a little dispassionately, "No, no. Not at all. It's usually me and George and Ron on one team and Ginny, Bill, and Percy on the other. But Perce hates it. He'd be grateful if you took his place, I'm sure."

With further pleading from Hermione's eyes and Draco's quiet non answer, Harry sighs yet again and adds. "Really. You'd be doing Percy a favor. Ginny and Bill as well, for that matter."

Hermione giggles at that, quite certain that at least Percy's gratitude would be sincere, if not the whole team's. She looks over at Draco to find his mouth in a thin line and traces her fingertips down his jaw until he looks at her. "You should play," she coaxes. "You're an excellent flyer. Careful, or you'll get rusty," she adds, teasing, and he finally cracks a grin.

"Alright then, Potter. But I'll get my own broom, thanks." They sneer at each other, but Hermione will take the entire exchange as a win.

* * *

It takes Draco barely a moment to return to Wiltshire and retrieve his broom, that familiar sense of belonging washing over him. He luxuriates in it for only a moment, hoping not to be delayed. Unfortunately, even without Pipsy meddling, Narcissa manages to catch him in the act.

"Draco, darling, I didn't know you were home."

Quidditch pads on his elbows and knees and a broom in his fist, it's pretty obvious he has no intentions to stay that way, but he feels the need to answer politely. "Just on my way out, Mother."

"Yes, I see," she answers with pursed lips. "Are you... seeing Theo?"

Thinking it's at least possible that Theo would accompany Potter to the Weasley home, therefore it's not a complete fabrication, he nods at her and answers vaguely. "A few of the old Hogwarts players," he says, also truthfully, but certainly implying they would have played on his House team.

"That's lovely then." She looks oddly disappointed. Draco sighs, knowing what she wants but asking anyway.

"Would you like to schedule tea one day this coming week?"

She brightens almost instantly, smile radiant, and Draco is loathe to admit it feels a little good to do something right by the woman. "Tuesday, I was thinking. It will be so lovely to catch up with you. I'll make sure Lucius is otherwise occupied. Just you, me, and Dahlia. And Pansy, of course."

"Wait. What do you mean 'Pansy'?"

"Oh, well, I let Dahlia know we could get together for tea, but that I simply had to check with your schedule first. She understands how busy you must be, dear, now that you are Head of House."

Draco levels her with a look, letting the quiet blanket across them like a shroud. Finally, he delivers a very even, "Matter of fact, I am not available Tuesday after all. I will have to owl you details. Apologies." He turns to stride away, but of course he can never have the last word with his mother.

"Draco, be reasonable. You must reconnect with society. If not the Parkinsons, perhaps the Greengrass ladies?"

He stops, years of breeding making him incapable of walking away from his mother while she is still speaking. "Mother, was I not clear in regards to my intentions for Miss Granger?"

"Of course, darling, I know. That doesn't mean you can't mend some bridges, as it were. Alliances come and go, my dragon. If you and Miss Granger were to falter, would it not be better to have... options?"

"Hermione is not an 'alliance'. And if you are so quick to mend bridges, perhaps Signora Zabini and Blaise would like to visit instead."

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Hardly the type of alliances I meant," she comments, somewhat rude in that she nearly mutters the reply.

Draco tilts his head mockingly. "Oh? Because I couldn't produce an heir with Blaise? Or because his mother is a blood traitor?" His voice is all innocence, and Narcissa narrows her eyes, unimpressed.

"Perhaps then," she says dangerously, "you would instead like to bring Miss Granger to the Manor. It's only proper your mother meet her officially."

It's a standoff. Draco has pushed as far as he can, and if he doesn't give his mother something, throw her some proverbial bone, she might find her way to interfering once again. Not to mention, he has been adamant that Hermione is the singular important witch in his life. All but officially his intended. There is no reason not to agree to the request without admitting their relationship would struggle long term.

"Very well. I'll make arrangements. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be needed on the pitch."

"Of course, dear," she agrees, all smiles. "Do give Theo my best. And all your teammates."

He catches her smirk as he turns the corner. He would swear she's a fucking seer.

When he makes it back to Grimmauld, Hermione is waiting but explains that Potter has gone on ahead.

"He didn't want to chaperone?" Draco sneers, quite happy the tosser is gone.

"I'm fairly certain Harry knows I don't need a minder and knows better than to try." She gestures to the broom in his hand. "Ready?"

"Not even a little," he answers with a grimace, but she only laughs it off.

The Weasley family still resides in their ramshackle excuse for a house in Ottery St. Catchpole, regardless that Arthur Weasley, a hero of the war, is now somewhat of an important person at the Ministry. Draco is positive they could afford better and can't imagine why they would choose to live this way.

He finds out soon enough; it's because they like to live in absolute bedlam.

"Oh wonderful, you've made it!" Molly Weasley answers the door herself. Draco supposes it was too much to ask that a house elf might greet them, a buffer before being thrown in the fire.

Then again, at least it wasn't the youngest son.

"Hi, Molly," Hermione greets and steps forward to kiss her cheek. "Thank you for inviting us."

"Pish. You say that as if I've not been begging you for weeks." The woman waggles her finger at Hermione. "Don't think it escaped my attention I had to use poor Draco to get to you."

Poor Draco? Merlin, this is the strangest interaction, and he hasn't even said a word.

"Missus Weasley," he starts, showing the bottle of wine he's brought, when he is immediately interrupted.

"Molly, dear. You may call me Molly. I would say you can call me 'Mum', nearly everyone here does, but I'm not sure Narcissa Malfoy would much care for that." She says it terse and quick, and Draco can't tell if it's meant to be a joke, so he just nods along.

"Molly, then. Thank you for having me. I know my family's relationship with yours has been contentious-"

"Contentious!" With a laugh, she waves them inside, turning to bustle back toward the kitchen, wine clutched in her hand. "Yes, I can say it has, at that. Well, come in, settle yourselves. I'll just let this breathe, shall I?"

Then she's gone, and Draco takes in the next phase of insanity.

Through the kitchen doorway, he can see pots being stirred by spoons, dishes dunking themselves into soapy water, knives floating in mid-air as they slice at various vegetables, and glasses levitating in a line to take their turn with the pitcher filling them up. The matriarch ducks beneath a knife as she enters, then the door closes behind her.

The room in which they are standing isn't much better. A couple of random red-headed wizards are talking animatedly, one showing the other something that looks very much like a knife made out of a single dragon tooth. The father, Arthur Weasley, is showing Potter some strange piece of metal with various runes that light and flash. It makes noises, chirping and buzzing, as the man talks over it, asking questions with uncaged excitement. Draco hears Potter say something about a 'game' but has no idea how one would play such a thing.

The youngest Weasley, Ginevra, is tossing a Quaffle in the air, full Quidditch leathers at the ready, when she spies them. "Well, it's about bloody time! Have to wait for Draco, they said. Well, he's here, let's get on with it!"

It's just one more noise amongst the cacophony, but everyone seems to take notice. All eyes are now on Draco, and he has no idea how to react. He straightens his back, holding himself tall and proud.

One of the older sons, Bill, he would suppose, stands up and hands the dragon tooth back to the other one. Draco notices the witch that had been blocked from view. The Veela. He recalls her from her time visiting Hogwarts years before but had forgotten that she had married into the family.

The oldest son approaches and looks at Draco with a rather even expression. "I hear you'll be with me and Ginny today."

At Draco's nod, the man's face cracks into a grin. "Thank Circe, then. I'll keep, you can chase. Usually we make Perce man the rings. It's really as much as he can handle," he whispers as an aside. "But I prefer it, myself."

With a slap to Draco's shoulder, Bill starts to lead him outside. "Come on then, let's beat the Chosen One for once. Little git has a big enough head as it is."

Draco looks back to Hermione to find her smiling, happy in a way that still makes him proud to be a part of. She tips her head at him, a taunt forming on her lips.

"Well, then? Let's see what you're made of, Malfoy."

She's radiant, the most beautiful witch on earth, and he forgets their audience and his circumstances when he tells her, "If we were playing with Seekers, I'd catch you a Snitch, my love."

But his witch isn't the swooning romantic type, and so she snorts and smacks his chest as she walks past. "Against Harry? You're lucky it's only a quick three on three."

_Oh, she'll pay for that._ Draco grins after her then quickly excuses himself from those left in the room, trailing after his lover like a familiar. Feels pretty normal to heel to her, no matter what form he's in.

XXXXXX

Draco has been playing Quidditch for over an hour and is currently smiling broadly at Bill after scoring yet another goal. It's been a well-played match, the addition of Draco evening out the teams. While Percy had always been a reluctant keeper, letting the Quaffle pass by more often than not, Bill thrives in the position.

Hermione is slightly concerned about Ron, his face a rather tight pinched expression after each score against him, glares often shot at Ginny's back. But Harry has also been on fire, sneaking past Bill on quite a few occasions in spite of his stellar efforts.

All in all, it's a good game, and is currently sitting at a 120 tie. Molly's insistent calling for dinner could not come at a better time, as far as Hermione is concerned. Let all her boys save face. It will make for a better situation if they do this again.

Draco swoops down, landing with grace and clutching his broom. He's grinning broadly, and she can't help but run at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You were brilliant," she whispers into his ear, before he promptly pulls her in for a hard and possessive kiss.

As they come apart, Hermione is jarred when Bill slaps Draco on the back as he walks by. "Well played, Malfoy. Hermione, you have to bring him next month. I'm completely spoiled off Perce, now."

Draco chuckles in answer, looking more relaxed than she's seen him since in years, outside of their private time together of course.

"Hungry?" she asks, pulling away but taking his hand to lead him inside.

"Famished. Worked up quite the appetite, I must say."

She starts to respond but is interrupted by George as he passes them. "Not as much as you work up with our Hermione, I'd wager." He winks at them both, and Hermione blushes down to her bones. George just laughs as he walks away.

Beside her, Draco's levity has waned. "I forgot you used to shag that one," he says. "Come to think of it," he continues in a low voice, "I'm not terribly fond of the idea that more than one wizard here has seen…" He gestures to her up and down, looking a little green.

Hermione doesn't really know how to respond to that. Draco's sexual experiences are generally witches she will never have to contend with. She would suppose it might be a bit strange that her surrogate family also contains two of her exes.

So, instead of arguing, she lifts up on her toes and kisses him softly. "There's no comparison," she answers finally, "between a sordid rebound and this." She kisses him again, more insistent, until she feels his hands burrow into her curls as he holds her head in place.

"I love you," he says as he pulls away. She hums and answers back the same, a contented smile on her face.

"And I'm more handsome, right?" he asks conspiratorially, digging for reassurance under the guise of humour.

"Infinitely," she agrees, and they continue toward the Burrow, arms wrapped around each other.

Inside, the family is taking their places at the table. In light of events, Hermione's usual seat between Harry and Ron had been moved to Harry's other side. Today, they have shifted Bill and Fleur to the other end of the table, making room for Draco at her side.

He holds out her chair for her as she sits. Ginny watches, her eyebrow raised, but doesn't comment. Ron turns his body in a very obvious way toward Lavender who has just arrived. Fleur gives Hermione a secret smile, gesturing with her eyes to Draco as if to congratulate Hermione on her catch.

Still flushed from their exchange outside, Hermione lets her curls curtain her cheeks as she wills them to cool, simultaneously loving Draco's attention but also feeling like the star of a show she never asked to join. She's certain she and her new lover will be the topic of after dinner drinks once they take their leave.

"So, Draco." Arthur Weasley has taken his seat at the head of the table and is watching a spoon scoop potato mash onto his plate. "What have you been up to since Hogwarts? I would have thought perhaps I'd see you around the Ministry. Hogwarts top students usually end up there in some capacity."

Hermione feels her lover stiffen a little. She holds his hand tightly, resting it against her thigh, in a show of support. She knows Arthur is as well-meaning as they come and hopes that Draco doesn't take offense to what a Slytherin might consider probing questions.

To her relief, he answers as politely as she thinks he might be capable. "I'm afraid politics have never held the interest for me my family might have wished. I'm taking a little time for myself before redirecting Malfoy Industries to new endeavors."

"Oh?" Arthur raises his brow. "New fields entirely?"

The room is deadly quiet, all eyes on the exchange. Unsure if it is curiosity or distrust, everyone seems to be waiting to hear Draco's plans.

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. It seems he noticed the attention as well. "I'm thinking of investing in some Muggle interests."

Jaws drop and breaths are held. Hermione, though, having heard this mentioned in passing, beams at him with pride. She turns to Arthur, hoping to make the conversation a bit less tense, to coax others around the table into either joining or moving on with their own affairs. "I've suggested he look to technologies. Some very exciting changes are happening right now with information and communication."

It's enough. The tension breaks, and Percy asks what sort of changes, to which Hermione is happy to respond. Molly questions if Bill is trying to have a bit of potato with his gravy, the way he drowns it so. Ron and Harry end up embroiled in a debate over the Cannons versus the Kestrels upcoming match, George lending his two Knuts that it's irrelevant because Montrose will take either of them easily the following week.

Hermione couldn't be happier and is horrified to feel her eyes prick. She lowers her gaze to her plate, willing it away.

As Draco breaks off from conversation, allowing Arthur and Percy to continue on with Ministry regulation, he dips his head toward her, asking low, "You alright, Granger?"

She looks up, taking in the concern on his face, and it's almost her undoing. She sniffles, but leans over to lay her lips on his cheek gently. "I'm good," she says then glances around the table, taking in the relaxed and smiling faces. Looking back to Draco, she threads their fingers together right on top of the table where anyone can see, feeling proud of him and proud of _them_.

She takes a shuddering breath, the tears finally losing a battle with her will as she steadies herself and says again with emphasis, "I'm really quite good."

He smiles and lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it with purpose, eyes still on hers. "Me too."


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my endless love and thanks as always. LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal, and all of you reading

_I_ _t has to be today._

It's Draco's mantra for at least a week. Everyday he is certain he will confess his sins so that he and Hermione can, hopefully, start their life together. Truly and fully, nothing divisive between them. He will beg on his knees.

But everyday is so fucking perfect, each more so than the last, and he knows he is going to ruin everything.

Potter watches him often, though he is less hostile now. He watches Hermione coo over Draco as a marten, whispering what a sweet thing he is and how happy she is to have him. He watches her greet him with affection and open, unabashed happiness as a wizard. They lock eyes over her shoulder, Draco trying to convey his regrets, Potter looking back with something at least in the neighborhood of understanding.

On a very strange Monday night, Draco visits Nott for a drink, only to run into Potter already there.

"Thought you two were being discreet," he says with a sneer, side stepping the pair of them on this way to the whiskey decanter.

"No, please, help yourself," Theo calls after him. Draco toasts him before taking a fortifying drink. "As for discreet, we're in my fucking house. Which, did I invite you inside, you tosser?"

"I'm going to do it tomorrow."

Theo sobers a bit, dropping his usual flippant mirth. Warily, both he and Potter take a seat nearby as Draco falls into his favoured fireside. "You've been saying that for days," Theo points out, but Draco shakes his head at him.

"Mother sent another owl. She wants to meet Hermione; becoming quite insistent." He takes a drink, breathing deeply through his nose, before continuing. "She's pushing for this weekend, but not like this. Not with this… pretense."

"You could put off your mother," Potter suggests, and it's a testament to how his attitude has changed in the past days that he's even trying to help.

"I have," Draco denies, a bit disgruntled. "For weeks now. Funny, actually, I don't even want to delay it. I'm looking forward to letting my mother know just how serious I am." He levels them both with a look. "But not if it's going to end soon thereafter. I don't know what I'm going to say to Granger, but I have to tell her. Tomorrow." Another drink. "Probably." Another deep breath. Draco is trying to sound logical. To be calm.

Theo and Potter are staring at him, unsure, faces scrunched in thought. "Do you need us to do anything?" Nott asks, and fuck if it isn't the kindest thing he's ever said. Draco's normally frivolous friend is being uncharacteristically supportive. Perhaps Potter is good for him.

"I can't imagine what it would be," he answers truthfully. "I just wanted to say it out loud. Make it real." He pauses, contemplating the tumbler in his hand before tipping it towards them. "Have myself a drink."

They speak a bit longer, Draco making it through three more glasses before cutting himself off. It's late when he makes it home, sneaking in the window on furry legs and squeezing himself through the narrow opening left for him.

"Benedick! There you are!"

She picks him up from the sill and holds him close. He's memorizing her, drinking in her scent and the feel of her skin. One way or another, soon this all changes. He prays to Circe, Salazar, and all the Muggle Gods that she will forgive him, but their dynamic will have to rebuild. This, whatever this strange thing is between them, can no longer be a part of their relationship.

Perhaps that's an odd thing to lament, he would suppose, but being held like this, her heart open and pouring out unconditionally, beating a cadence he can feel in his bones, this was Draco's first taste of true affection. Before she was comfortable with him as a wizard, they had this. He will mourn the end of it, regardless that he hopes they will come out stronger.

* * *

Hermione stretches out her back, a long day of scribbling on parchment almost behind her, the week stretching entirely too long. When she looks up, however, it is to be faced, once again, with the stoic countenance of Narcissa Malfoy as she raps lightly on her office door frame.

"Miss Granger. If I might have a moment."

All wide eyes, surprised to see the Malfoy matriarch, Hermione searches for calm and nods. Draco has been telling her for some time now that Narcissa is insisting upon a meeting. It might be disguised as "taking tea", but she knows what this is. Hermione is expected to "meet the parents" as it were. So much about the situation seems strange, not the least of which being the relatively short amount of time she's been dating their son. A matter of months, weeks really, yet she feels like the Malfoys are ready to crack open her dowry and choose flowers for the bridal bouquet.

She wonders if that (the pressure to rush courtships and confirm alliances) is indicative of the Wizarding world in general, pureblood society on the whole, or simply the Malfoys clamouring for social acceptance.

"Of course. Please, have a seat." She gestures to the chair across from her desk, lamenting that it's not terribly comfortable for a guest. She might not have cared much about Narcissa last time she darkened her door, but Hermione is very invested in her relationship with Draco now. It won't hurt to play nice.

"If I can speak frankly?" Hermione nods, but she's pretty sure it wouldn't matter if she disagreed. "My son is avoiding me, and I can only imagine it has to do with you."

Well. Frank it is, then. Hermione can do frank.

She scoffs. "You suppose I've instructed him not to speak with you? Do you imagine anyone tells Draco Malfoy what he can and cannot do?"

"Please. If you know him as well as you seem to think, you would know my son is an absolute kitten, especially in regards to those he holds with affection. If you do not wish to have tea, there is nothing he can say to change your mind. However, I can't imagine how you see your life stretching before you if you continue on with my son. You cannot avoid me forever."

At this, Hermione just laughs. A joyful, surprising sound. It makes Narcissa wince. "Sorry. Just, you think _I_ refused? Narcissa... may I call you Narcissa?" Giving her no more than an obligatory pause, Hermione soldiers on. "Narcissa, I told Draco I will be happy to have tea as soon as he can make arrangements. He told me the Manor is under renovations, so it could be a while yet."

"Renovations have been complete for over a week," the woman says, a little confusion in her tone and a frown on her subtly painted lips.

"Then it seems as though he is avoiding the meeting all on his own."

The two stare at each other for a moment, Hermione studying the other woman's face. Eventually, she takes a breath and tries very hard to remember that this woman loves Draco more than anything, and she proved it with a vengeance at the final battle. To a degree, she is correct about the future. No relationship can withstand a clash between lover and mother when the bond between them is this strong.

"Next Tuesday."

Narcissa blinks. "Tuesday?"

"I would be available to take tea with you on Tuesday. The Ministry is closed for Merlin's Ascension, so I would have the entire day. It also gives me the weekend to prepare Draco against whatever concerns he has."

One delicate eyebrow lifts. "And what concerns do you imagine you will address?"

"That I might have a panic attack the moment I walk through your door? You might recall the last time I visited your home I was dragged in by my hair and sliced apart by Bellatrix." Narcissa visibly falters, but Hermione continues on. "Or it could be nothing to do with that at all. Maybe he's afraid I won't know to work outside-in with my cutlery. Or maybe there are polite topics in which I need to be versed. Maybe he's afraid Lucius will try to poison me. Really, there are countless possibilities. Perhaps you might understand his hesitation, since we are being frank."

Another standoff. Another long stare. Eventually, Narcissa nods. "Tuesday then. I will expect you promptly at four. Pipsy will direct you to the Solarium. Tell my son to gift you a Bezoar if he's all that concerned for your safety."

A beat. Hermione isn't sure if that was meant to be a joke.

With that, Draco's mother stands. Has Hermione made an enemy or has she played this exactly right? She watches the woman drift elegantly from the room, not looking back and holding her head high.

Great. Now to tell Draco. Hermione assumes she's in for a few days of pouting. She grins down at her parchment. It's adorable when he pouts.

* * *

It's a warm Friday night when Draco arrives at Grimmauld to the endlessly welcome sight of Granger smiling at him and wearing a very tight fitted skirt. He had left her room as Benedick before she dressed for their date, so he's surprised, pleasantly so, by the striking figure she cuts. "Well, don't you look good enough to eat," he purrs at her through a wolfish grin, then proceeds to make good on his word, devouring the lipstick right off her lips.

A lot of throat clearing and pithy comments from Potter later, and they find themselves in a Muggle restaurant in London, hands clasped on white tablecloth and a bottle of red between them.

"Tuesday," he repeats, dreading but resigned. Almost grateful the decision is taken out of his hands. He has to tell her before they visit the Manor, no question. In effect, it's a deadline and perhaps exactly what he needs.

"I hope that's alright," she says with a frown, likely reading into his expression.

"It is. I'm surprised, I suppose. I doubt you're looking forward to it."

Hermione retracts her hand so she might pick up her glass and takes a sip. She lays it back beside her place setting before answering. "I'm not," she admits, "but I don't see how we keep going without facing some things between us."

That's pretty fucking on the nose and truthfully a perfect opening if he wants to come clean, but Draco can't seem to make his mouth work properly to take over the conversation. In his hesitation, she continues.

"We went through a lot during the war. Before that, even. But... I love you. And I'm not looking for this to end anytime soon. Or... ever." She looks at him warily, fearful, and seems far from finished speaking. Draco picks up her hand where it rests beside the stem of her glass, encouraging her to continue. "They're your family," she goes on. "If I want to be with you, I have to accept that and... and I suppose _they_ have to accept _me_ as well. That won't happen if I don't take a step, right?"

Hermione tilts her head, looking at him with trepidation, and he realizes she is looking for assurance, as if this is all just a casual dalliance for him. As if what she's saying isn't beyond generous of her, willing to try in light of everything between her and his family. He swallows, clasping her hand tighter and laying his other atop, engulfing her dainty fingers between his palms. "I don't care what they think," he tries, but she shakes her head at him to stop.

"You do. Or you _will_. I know you have your issues between you. Believe me, I think you should," she adds through a laugh. "But you won't be angry forever, and they will miss you. They'll keep trying. And I... I don't want to be what's standing between you. I'd be awfully angry at myself for it, and you'd probably resent me."

Draco studies her, not sure what she ultimately wants him to say. Known for more subterfuge than honesty, he digs deep for truth. "I could never resent you, Granger. I just didn't want to put you through the entire thing if you weren't sure. I can't guarantee my family will be polite."

"Not sure?" She repeats in question. "Are you… I mean, I thought I'd been pretty clear. Are you having doubts?"

"Merlin, no," he denies. "Not about you. I just have trouble believing you won't have any about me… eventually."

The smile she gives him is sweet and reassuring, and Draco feels that familiar twinge in his heart. "What more can I say to convince you?"

Shaking his head, Draco lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her fingertips. Whatever he would have said, he's interrupted by their server delivering their first course. By the time they've thanked the man and sampled their food, commenting on the excellent wine pairing and the unique flavors, the conversation is lost to the evening. There is no more talk of Tuesday tea or niggling doubts. Instead, he laughs when she's clever, and she blushes when he's a bit of a rogue. Another perfect evening amongst so many before this, and all thoughts of confessions slip Draco's mind yet again.

Hermione asks him back to Potter's home, and Draco readily accepts. They kept their wine to a minimum, so he is only experiencing the very slightest of effects, warmth in his cheeks and a smile on his face. Seeming to be slightly more affected, his witch is a bit giggly as they enter. Yet, she shushes him as not to disturb her roommate.

Draco is on her the moment the door closes, pressing his lips insistently to hers and sliding his fingers into her curls.

"Thank you for dinner," he hardly more than breathes against her lips. She answers with another giggle, nipping back at his.

"Your turn tomorrow. I think I'd like breakfast in bed."

Draco smiles, feeling her lips stretched as well. He hums in thought. "Then I suppose I'd better stay. For convenience, you understand. Breakfast comes so early."

"It does," she agrees. Her fingers delicately play with the fringe at his collar. "Have I told you how handsome you are?"

"You know," he says, pretending to be very thoughtful, "I'm not entirely sure you have."

Hermione pulls back and gives him a wicked little grin. "Second most handsome in the world."

"Second most?" Draco only plays at affront, guessing by the cheeky smile that she's about to turn the entire comment around.

"Well, most handsome _wizard_ , I suppose, if you're interested in that sort of thing. But where it really counts, your ferret was just almost as charming as my Benedick. Second most handsome of the weasels in my life."

Doing his very best to throw on a casual pout, Draco feels his heart beat a little faster and hopes she doesn't notice. He's about to respond, some quip about Weasley ranking below, when she pulls away and changes gears completely.

"That reminds me…" Hermione trails off as she makes her way up the stairs. To Draco's horror, he hears her quietly calling, "Benedick? Come out, darling? How about some nice salmon?..."

As her voice fades, Draco looks around, panicked. Does he wait for her to give up, hope that she will assume that her familiar is gone for the evening? What he should do, he knows, is tell her, but suddenly he's terrified. What if this is the end? Dinner tonight might be his last with Granger. That kiss, that delicious, sensual kiss they just shared, might be nothing but a memory to which he clings. He feels like he can't breathe and knows he probably looks certifiable.

Potter chooses that exact moment to enter the room and stops short when he catches sight of Draco's face. "What's wrong?"

"She's gone looking for her familiar," Draco says, low and desperate. "I have to… I have to tell her, but I have no fucking idea how."

They both hold their tongues as Hermione comes swiftly back down the stairs. "Harry! Have you seen Benedick? I want Draco to meet him."

"Not since lunch," he tells her. "Probably already on the prowl."

"I wonder if I could modify the 'Point Me' spell or something…"

She's looking under furniture as she speaks, peering through doorways. "Benedick! Please come out, sweetheart!"

"You know how he is," Potter tries again. "He'll be back in the morning, I'm sure. Draco can meet him another time."

"No, this is ridiculous. It's ridiculous Draco has never seen him, and I want them to meet. I'm going to meet Narcissa, and Draco's going to meet Benedick, and that's that."

Draco looks back at Potter again, still panicked, still frantic, and Hermione continues to tear through the house calling his Animagus name. So many times he tried to tell her, so many missed opportunities, and he hates that this is happening now. He should have told her at dinner, holding her hand and looking into those beautiful, expressive eyes. He should have told her weeks ago, admitting his mistake and begging her forgiveness so they might continue to know one another.

Now. He has to tell her _now_. Draco catches her by the arm as she is breezing by. "Granger, stop." He is resolved. Braced. "I need to tell you something."

He looks at Potter for support, which is possibly the most insane part of this entire affair, and finds sympathy in those green eyes. Draco steels his nerves. He's ready. With a deep breath, Draco looks at her with as much contrite affection as he can portray and begins to speak.

Only to be interrupted by Theo fucking Nott appearing from nowhere.

"Granger, apologies, but what Draco is hesitant to tell you… and really, he's been just beside himself about it, is that your familiar actually belongs to me."

"What?" Her voice is small like she already believes it, like her heart is already broken along all the cracks he's been trying so hard to help her fix.

"No, Hermione, don't listen to Nott-"

"I appreciate you're trying to spare her," Theo plows forward, "But Harry let me know you were having difficulty, so I'm here to take care of it." Theo beams a charming grin around the room before looking back to the witch in question. "Your marten, you see, I had thought I'd lost him. Disappeared right from Hogwarts."

"Nott, stop. The fuck are you doing?" Looking quickly, desperately back to Hermione, Draco addresses her again. "This isn't true."

The eyes she turns on him are red with unshed tears. But she's Hermione Granger, so she's putting together the pieces quickly. "This is it, isn't it? What you couldn't tell me before?"

Draco starts to say no, that it's not, but fucking Nott and Potter both agree yes before he can speak.

She snaps her attention to her best friend. "And you knew? Harry, how could you not tell me?"

Faltering, Potter stutters some ridiculous taste of the truth. "We just thought you'd be so upset, we were waiting for the right time."

"The _right time_? There's no right time for something like this. Draco...Is this true?" she finally asks, looking back to him, her lip quivering.

"No. I mean, part of it. We didn't want to upset you, that's true. But not what Theo's saying."

Voices overlap, talking over each other. Nott is emphatically claiming sincerity while Potter defends himself and his actions. Hermione's eyes dart between them as Draco tries to answer her, tries to work in words that are continually overshadowed by the other wizards growing increasingly louder and more emphatic.

Draco's eyes dart between them, from his lover to their friends. He denies as much as he can, still unsure, barely having readied himself for confession. His mind spins, possibilities and excuses, words and speeches flashing through his thoughts. All the while, his witch looks on the verge of crisis, emotions bubbling as she searches for clarity.

He might not be able to provide it for her, but Draco himself is struck with a moment of clear thought. With his eyes on hers, the sounds of the room, two ridiculous wizards bickering at how best to make their case heard… It all fades into quiet as he looks at her and prays for mercy.

"I'm sorry," he whispers then shrinks down onto four velvet paws, small dark eyes begging her to forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zing


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal. Also a super huge thanks for the amazing comments last chapter!

Someone once told Hermione Granger that seeing is believing. Or maybe she heard it on a programme or read it in a book. Regardless of the source, she has long understood that her own eyes are rarely deceptive.

Here she stands, staring at the place where her lover was only moments ago, but instead she is looking at her familiar. Benedick's glossy coat is unmistakable, as is the particular shape to the orange patch beneath his chin, the clever expression always present in his eyes. She has no doubt she is looking at the pine marten that has lived with her for months, yet she absolutely cannot believe what she is seeing.

It's only a moment when Benedick's body begins to shift, stretching and turning pale, like the rubber of a balloon as it inflates. Draco is there, as suddenly as he'd vanished, looking at her with haunted eyes.

"Granger, I'm so, so sorry."

Behind him, Harry and Theo have stopped talking as well, eyeing her with concern. Hermione glances their direction.

"I didn't know how to tell you." Her eyes shift back to Draco. When he moves to step forward, one hand extended as if he would comfort her with touch, she takes a step back. The devastation on his face is evident.

"Hermione..." Harry this time, looking contrite and worried. "He's been trying to tell you. I know it might not help, but the whole thing was a bit of an accident." She only stares, disbelieving, as silence falls once again.

Theo tries his luck, though his tone has much less of the roguish flippancy of before. "Apologies for my ruse as well. Malfoy was floundering, and I thought it might help. We've been trying to find a way to soften the blow."

Draco speaks again, nearly interrupting Theo in his eagerness to explain. "Hermione, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I never meant for this. Hadn't even meant for you to find me. Then suddenly we were here, and when I tried to leave, it made you so upset. I thought maybe if I just stayed for a bit, I could find a way to leave without hurting you. That maybe, I'd be struck with some brilliance and be able to make you happy. And then, I fell in love with you and it only got worse-"

"You all knew." She has finally found her voice, and she addresses the room, not looking at any of them. "You've known and let me go along thinking I had a... a pet...that doesn't even exist." Hermione feels her brows tighten, her breathing become shaky. She turns her eyes on each of them in turn, spending a longer time on Harry and then landing ultimately on Draco. "Do you have any idea how foolish you've made me feel?"

"I never meant-"

"Can you even fathom how much this hurts? And all that time we spent... Fuck, Draco, you were sleeping with me when I hardly knew you. I _told_ you things you had no right to hear. I don't even know... " She shakes her head, at a loss and weary. One last look sweeping the room, she makes for the stairs, her delightful wine buzz all but faded and her heart pounding painfully.

"Hermione, please…"

"I think you should go," she tells him without looking back, lifting her feet to climb the steps, each one heavier than the last.

She reaches her bedroom and closes the door by leaning against it. Taking stock, she finds the carrier she made for Benedick out of yarn. There, the leash she uses when they visit the park.

And it was Draco. It's so fucking ridiculous, she could almost laugh. Or scream. All those nights she held him close and whispered her secrets. The days at the beginning of summer when she would sob, her nose buried in his fur. How does this even happen? An _accident_ , Harry said? It's the stupidest thing she's ever heard. What started as shock and sorrow is moving quickly to anger.

With a small scream, Hermione hauls off and kicks the post of her bed. It's largely ineffectual, both physically and mentally. She feels no better, and the bed mocks her with it's sturdy lack of movement.

Ultimately, it doesn't take her long to decide she can't stay here. It's not just Draco, but Harry as well. She had wanted her friend to get along with her boyfriend but not bloody conspire against her.

Building herself up into a bit of rage, she finally grabs a set of keys, nearly forgotten, from the inside drawer of her nightstand and rips the door open. Hermione barrels down the steps and tears across the house to the front door. Passing through the parlour, Draco is still there, slumped in Benedick's favourite chair, head in his hands and looking haggard. Theo is standing over him, a comforting hand on his shoulder while Harry looks on, worrying his jaw as he thinks.

Draco looks up at her, eyes rimmed red, but it's Harry who speaks. "Hermione, maybe we can just talk-"

"No." She doesn't entirely stop moving, just slows enough to answer. "I can't stay here. I can't… I can't even look at you." As she picks up her pace once again, she throws over her shoulder once again, "Any of you."

She hears the protests, feels Harry start to come after her, but she bolts out the front door and slams it in his face. A quick turn to duck between buildings, and she spins in place Apparating somewhere she hasn't been in some time.

Hermione lands in the back garden. There's a bird feeder in the tree above her head, but the glass is cracked and the seeds long since gone. The house before her is dark. Eerie and quiet. With a wave of her wand, she unlocks the door and steps inside, immediately illuminating the fixtures to light a welcoming and bright kitchen. The decor is warm, bathed in a palette of Tuscan oranges and gold.

Remembering back, Jean Granger had just redecorated this space the year before she and her husband were sent away. Hermione wonders what color their kitchen is now. Did the woman arrive in Australia and set about finding the same decoration that is shown here? Or did losing her memory of their family life change who she was at her core?

Questions Hermione had wondered before but always swiftly tried to forget bombard her as she looks around, eyes growing wet.

She stumbles through the house, a time capsule of the family she lost, until she ends up at the door to the master bedroom. The entire house has been under magical stasis, keeping it clean and fresh. The sheets still smell like the laundry detergent her mother favoured, her father's ridiculous weather radio still sitting, dust-free, near his side of the bed.

Hermione lays there for some time. Hours? It doesn't matter, she would suppose. Confronting the mourning she's never truly done for her parents is breaking her heart, but the alternative is thinking of Harry. Of Draco. Of a familiar she had loved dearly, only to find he was an apparition.

Rather than face the problems of today, she confronts the trauma of her past and cries until she sleeps, feeling as abandoned as she had months before.

* * *

Draco hears the door slammed closed and his eyes follow suit, unable to stand the look of pity on Theo's face.

It's not long before Potter is back, foot steps coming to a stop nearby, and Draco looks up at him in question.

"She's gone. Apparated. Fuck, what a mess."

"I thought my plan was a perfectly good one," Theo mentions. Draco doesn't want to dignify that nonsense with a response and is grateful that Potter steps in.

"It was completely short sighted. We talked about this. She would have wanted to spend time with it, expecting you to bring it over here for visits. I know her a might better than you do."

"Well, at least I had a plan," Theo tosses out, slightly heated. You've had his head in a vice-" he says, pointing over to Draco, "-Demanding he fess up, when you didn't have any better idea than he did."

Draco appreciates that his friend is defending him, but his head is starting to pound, and he wishes they would stop.

"Oh, yes, blame me. You know, I'm not the one that decided to piggyback under some girl's shirt so I didn't have to face my home life. I'm only in this mess because of your friend." Potter glares at Theo a bit, meeting irritation with agitation. Draco can only see it escalating, and, honestly, he can't fucking handle it right now.

"Merlin, will you stop?" He looks up at both of them, and something in his face must give them pause. "Just... stop."

Draco rises and starts to the door. Theo calls after him, but it's Potter who lays a hand on his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

He shrugs in response. "Not sure. The Manor? I'd look for Granger, but honestly, I doubt she wants to see me."

"Of course she does," Theo argues, standing and approaching. "All birds want to be pursued a bit. Not that I have much experience," he offers with a signature Nott grin.

Draco stares at him, not sure his friend understands the gravity of what just happens, but Draco does. "I completely betrayed her," he stresses, voice raspy with choked emotion. "She's not interested in a game of 'chase-me', you git. She likely hates me. Possibly all of us," he throws out, looking at the pair.

"So, you're what? Giving up?" Potter scoffs at him. "You're a complete coward, Malfoy. Which, I suppose, we all knew, didn't we?" he adds with a sneer. It doesn't look right on his face.

Theo nudges him, looking uncomfortable. "Harry..."

"No, he's right," Draco asserts, feeling a little rise of his own anger. It feels good, honestly. Better than being wrecked. "I _am_ a coward. Yet, somehow, I'm the one that tried to be honest with her while you two pricks lied to her face. I know just how high your opinion is of me, Potter, so why bother?" He steps up, right in the other man's face. "Why lie to your best friend for me, huh? So this knob will keep sticking it to you while no one's looking?"

He feels himself shoved back, but it's Theo who has laid hands this time. "Out of line, Malfoy." Potter doesn't move, but Draco wishes he would. Honestly, he was hoping he would punch him in the face just to give him an excuse to hit back.

Of course, none of that solves anything because the wizard he wants to fucking strangle is himself.

Draco lifts his hands, a weak sort of apology, a concession. When none of them seem to know what to say, he turns on his heel and closes the distance to the door.

"You could... I mean you could wait. I'm sure she'll come back by morning."

Hand on the knob of the door, Draco closes his eyes against the monstrous kindness in Potter's voice. He doesn't deserve it, and Draco finds more and more he wants to feel like he earns things. Without turning, he mutters, "Then, she'll be thankful that I'm gone."

On the street, he pauses only a moment before making a decision. The Malfoy magic is singing in his blood, calling him back, and, this time, he finds himself without the strength to fight it. Apparating to the gates, he is greeted by Pipsy just inside the property line. "Master is home!" Pipsy bounces from one foot to the other, excited at the prospect of serving the Lord of the Manor.

"Pipsy, please turn down my bed and run a bath. I'll be staying this evening."

The bouncing stops, and Pipsy studies him. "Master is not happy to be home."

Draco forces a weak smile and answers a little sadly. "This hasn't been home for a long time, but I suppose it's time I start thinking differently."

The gravel crunches beneath his feet as he makes his way to the house, leaving Pipsy behind with concern clouding his bulbous eyes.

* * *

Draco spends Saturday haunting the Manor. Wraithlike, he stays to his rooms or ventures out at his parents' rigid meal times. Choosing instead to take meals in his rooms, he emerges only to visit the library and, once, late in the night, the owlery.

It's nearing midnight when he finally develops the courage, agonizing over his words. Ultimately, all he manages to write is a short but sincere apology. He expects no reply, and so is not disappointed when the owl returns the next morning with none. Truthfully, he's almost surprised she accepted his letter at all.

Sunday is much the same for the most part. He manages to avoid his mother, not wanting to face her penetrating, insightful gaze. She will know something is amiss, and he isn't even sure how to tell her what he's done.

It's late that Sunday, and Draco just coming back from the owlery once more. This time, he sent a simple declaration, letting his witch know that, should she wish to see him, he will answer any of her questions, and that he loves her.

Walking past his father's study, the door is closed as usual. It's a sight that hardly surprises Draco, and he continues down the corridor with hardly a thought for the man inside. On the cusp of turning the corner, however, he hears a firm but softly spoken, "Son."

Draco pauses, mid-step, and turns to find Lucius standing in the corridor, chin high with his cane under one palm.

"Father."

"Might I have a word?" It's a question but only just. He points toward his office with the tip of his cane before re-entering the room, obviously assuming that Draco will follow.

Only hesitating a moment, Draco's sorrow in regards to Granger and overall bitterness when it comes to his father is eclipsed by a sense of belonging and elation he would have killed for as a child. Not once in his years has he ever been invited to join his father in this room. He's knocked on the door, an errand to fetch his father for Narcissa. He's walked past, meeting the other wizard by happenstance as they pass without a word.

But not once has the invitation been extended. Feet heavy, weighed down by days worth of swirling emotion, he follows and barely enters the doorway, looking at Lucius who is already sitting behind the desk.

"Join me?" Lucius gestures to the chair across the desk and two tumblers on the surface between them.

One arched blond brow lifts, but Draco makes no comment before accepting. He sits with dignity and lifts the glass to his lips. Lucius follows suit and tips it toward his son.

"To the Malfoy family," he says.

"Long may we reign," Draco finishes sardonically. It's not the family motto, but he refuses to utter that bigoted sentiment.

"You seem troubled. Are things not well?" His father seems honestly surprised. Draco had thought perhaps his attitude and general demeanor is what had urged Lucius to call to him, but that seems not to be the case.

"Well enough," he answers vaguely. "What did you need?"

Lucius leans back in his chair, leaving the tumbler untouched. Draco wonders idly if it has been spiked with some sort of potion. Finding he doesn't much care, he takes another deep drink.

"Now that you have taken your family seat, I had thought perhaps you would be visiting the office. You mentioned some Muggle schemes to your mother."

He had, hadn't he? Draco has been a little distracted, what with his love life blossoming then falling apart. He neglects to say as much and only nods. "I did. I have some ideas for investments. Project development."

"The influence of your Miss Granger, no doubt."

"No doubt," he agrees, half-heartedly. Admittedly, being trapped with her the first few weeks of summer in Potter's home, he had been introduced to a plethora of Muggle inventions. At first, he had hardly taken note, but as their relationship progressed, he had opened himself more to the world from which she had come. When Narcissa had pressured him to take his role as head of the family, he had naively become excited at the prospect of making reparations for his past prejudice with grand gestures and bold plans, the first of which being to reform Malfoy Industries, introducing Muggle invention to the wizard world with his tarnished name at the helm.

Now, his excitement waned, he's not sure what the point of any of it would be. Without Hermione to stand beside him, to be proud of him, to smile that delicate and adoring smile his way, the company can burn for all he cares.

Lucius is eyeing him closely, suspicious and penetrating. "What's happened?"

Draco settles his jaw into place, feeling it click, then takes another drink. At the continued silence, heavy and oppressive, he levels his father with a look. "Nothing I wish to discuss."

"Are you having issues with your young witch? You might imagine I would not be knowledgeable in such matters, but Narcissa and I were once young-"

"Save your fatherly advice," he interrupts, feeling defensive and heated. "I've managed without it for this long; I think I can make it through from here. Especially on a topic you so clearly do not approve. I shudder to think what your counsel would even be. Call her a Mudblood? Chain her in the dungeons?"

His father's eyes narrow. "I have been rather understanding in the face of your disregard for our traditions-"

"Traditions? Fuck, that's one way to describe it..."

"Yes, _traditions_. The Malfoy family has been a world leader for generations, promoting the welfare of wizarding blood and culture. Yet, I have set that aside in response to your wishes. If Miss Granger is, however, no longer a factor, perhaps we can begin looking at a beneficial match-"

"Sweet Salazar, are you serious?" Draco stands and glares down at his father. "The body isn't even cold, and you'd have me bedding another as fast as you could have one Floo'ed in. My relationship with Hermione is far more important to me than a political association or financial attachment. She's the most beautiful, brilliant witch in Britain, and it's a bloody miracle she would ever forgive me my past. Do you realize how fortunate I am that she would even speak to me? She should have hexed me on sight, and somehow she let me fall in love with her."

Draco is breathing a bit heavily, staring down at his father's smug face. A beat passes before the man says, "Then perhaps you need to find a way to fix whatever this is you've done instead of sleeping in the proverbial dog house. Though I take exception to any thoughts of the Manor in that way."

The strangest fucking thing happens and Lucius smiles. Like he didn't just make a bad joke in the face of Draco's existential crisis. Sitting back down, Draco swigs back the last of his whiskey and slides the tumbler back, silently asking his father to refill it. Without comment, his father lifts the decanter and adds a generous amount, more fingers than he could count on his hand.

"Why did you call me in here?" Draco asks, calming his irritation.

"I want you to visit the office. I've briefed Natalie, and she will be expecting you tomorrow at nine."

Furrowing his brow, surprised Lucius has spoken to their vice chairman at all, he asks, "To what end?"

"I'm stepping down. Officially. What is left of our company is kept afloat mostly with a few potion patents and silent partnership in a handful of companies too strapped for cash to cut ties with us. The teams we have in place mostly run the day to day operations. My directing role ended years ago-"

"Distracted by house guests, I suppose," Draco comments, unable to curb his sharp tongue.

His father looks back, slightly disapproving. "Distracted with the needs of my family," he counters. "Never think that what I did, I did not have the best of intentions to leave you with a world in which you could thrive. Unfortunately, some aspects were miscalculated."

Draco snorts, but drinks rather than saying more.

"As things stand," Lucius continues, "I can no longer perform duties for the company. Much as I have passed the mantle to you for the name Malfoy, it is time you took the company into your own direction, just as I did after my father. The potions patents were largely my focus in my younger years, and they have served us well. Whatever vision you have for rebuilding, it is your turn to make your mark."

Staring at him, feeling a bit dumbstruck, Draco questions, "And you approve? Of my interest in Muggle technologies? In sullying the pure nature of our business?"

"It is no longer mine to approve nor disapprove. I leave your future to you."

To say Draco doesn't trust the sentiment would be a gross understatement, yet his father shows no signs of insincerity. "Why the change of heart?" He asks with a sneer.

"I pride myself on pragmatism, even when the means are actions I find unsavory. I might hold out hope you will continue the purity of your heritage but not at the expense of my family or our position. You are Head of House now, Draco; the magic has confirmed and honored you."

"And Granger? You'll say nothing to deter my efforts with her?" He thinks for a moment then adds bitterly, "If it even matters. I'm not sure I'm the wizard she deserves. Or even the wizard I wish to be."

"Then change that," his father says, like it's easy. Draco sneers and starts to reply but Lucius continues. "You're a Malfoy, Draco. Whatever it is you feel you are lacking is within your grasp. Find it. And if that includes Miss Granger, I will respect your choice."

It's surreal, and Draco does little more than blink before emptying his second glass and heading toward the door.

"Draco."

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, he pauses and gives his father a nod to continue.

"Remember, they are expecting you tomorrow. The board is very interested to begin work on your ideas. They are craving the leadership I have not been able to give."

For just a moment, Draco considers walking out without a word, but it feels petulant, and truly, he is simply tired. "I will meet with Natalie in the morning. Evening, Father."

"Evening, Son."

As he lay awake, completely unprepared to take a step into his future, he wishes desperately for Hermione's calming presence. Sleep never comes.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments so far. I'm so pleased by the response to the last couple of chapters and hope this one lives up!
> 
> Hearts to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal for their support and loveliness.

Hermione removes yet another missive from the leg of a proud and stately owl. She might have just refused it altogether, but that seems rude to the animal in question. He's just doing his job, after all.

Treat dispensed and owl on its way home, she tosses the scroll next to the small accumulating pile on her family's dining table. Counting six, she sighs. On Saturday, she had nearly burned the first two but thought better of it. She doesn't _have_ to read them, but once incinerated, she has no options. Hermione likes options, so she let them rest.

It had been a long day, napping and crying and otherwise feeling worthless. That night, however, she had showered and taken stock of her old home, feeling that purpose would soothe her heartache.

And so, beginning at nearly eleven at night, she had made strides to de-clutter and rearrange the home. She can't let it remain in this limbo forever, understanding that eventually she will need to either live in it or sell it. On Sunday morning, still feeling fresh betrayal from Harry, living in it was a temporary safe harbour, though she was still drowning in bitter memories.

Now, Monday dawning bright and blue, clear skies shining happily through the large picture window in the family room, she is reconsidering that notion. Perhaps instead of mourning the Grangers that were, she should be celebrating their health and safety. Should she not be grateful they have a happy life ahead of them?

Feeling bolstered yet a bit emotionally drained, her focus has become boxing away the items that once decorated the home to her mother's taste. Next, she finds herself storing and cataloging her father's model ships and extensive collection of Wolverhampton Wanderers memorabilia, taking the house down to its bare bones, staged for a new life, possibly her own. Regardless, though, if she should sell it or make it hers, it will be ready for a transformation.

Thoughts drift to Draco often, his owls making it impossible to forget him for long. Their situation is so laughable, it's grotesque. She practices in her head how she could possibly respond if anyone ever asked her why they are no longer together. Hermione feels like an utter fool, complete imbecile, for not realizing, never noticing, that there was something inherently off about her familiar. It was far too clever, much too intuitive, and suspiciously intelligent.

And what she had felt for Draco had been powerful, and she feels ice clench her heart whenever his face flashes through her mind, all crooked smiles and grey eyes. How could he lie to her for so long? How can you love someone and treat them with so little respect?

Oh, he tried to tell her, he says, but it seems awfully convenient, slimy and sneaky, to offer a blanket apology without actually confessing. She stomps around angrily when she thinks of it, slamming dishes into cabinets in her bid to rearrange the kitchen. How dare he think that would be enough?

The back of her mind shows her his haunted face and broken posture as she had left Grimmauld, but she files that neatly away, beneath surface thoughts and emotions as she focuses on throwing out her mother's mismatched collection of tupperware. She's not ready yet, to forgive. She doesn't want to not be angry. A quick glance at the scrolls on the table and she continues, stomping into the study to deal with her father's outdated Encyclopedia Britannica, vowing to purchase a new set for herself.

* * *

Draco hasn't been to his father's office in so long, he nearly forgets where it is. Turning down the wrong corridor more than once, he finally asks a receptionist on the ground floor who directs him, recognition and surprise evident on her face. Have they forgotten the Malfoys still own the company? He's ten minutes late when he arrives.

Natalie is a tall, stern looking witch with black hair and thin shoulders. He has always imagined McGonagall may have looked similar years ago.

Having started with the company at a very young age, Natalie had been a fixture in Draco's life through his formative years. She's hardly aged in the five years since he's seen her, and he imagines she is no more than fifty, regardless that she has helmed the company, first by Lucius' side and then alone, for nearly twenty-five years.

"Mister Malfoy."

"I apologize, Natalie," he begins, presenting hand for her to shake. She does, and her grip is strong. "I had some trouble finding my way."

"I imagine," she agrees. "You were hardly more than a boy last time you were here."

Draco isn't sure if he should bristle. Is she asserting some form of dominance? A play for power? She seems forthright enough; perhaps he can take the comment at base value.

"Shall we sit?" He gestures to the chair near her as he circles the desk and takes his father's old seat. The leather is cold and crisp, unused for so long, and almost too large for him. He's never felt so much like a child as he does trying to fill his father's chair. He hopes Natalie doesn't see how nervous he truly is.

"I understand," she says, taking her own seat primly and folding one bony knee over the other, "that you have some ideas for Malfoy Industries."

He can't tell if she's in favour of his involvement, has no idea if she feels threatened or excited by the prospect. Clearing his throat, he confirms, "I do. I've been in the acquaintance of a Muggle-born who has some interesting technologies in her home." Natalie gives him nothing, so he goes on, feeling very much like he's interviewing for a position in his own company.

"Much of it seems purely entertainment based, though entertainment does sell. However, I'd first like to look at communications. Muggles, you see, have small devices that act much like the Floo, but without the powder and need for a fireplace. I know there is a niche market of two-way mirrors, but those are specific to only the mirrors charmed as pairs. This system is an entire network, and anyone who has one of these can-"

He stops talking and stares. From the pocket of her robes, Natalie has withdrawn a small black rectangle, the face covered with numbers. "You're speaking of the telephone?"

He nods, feeling more ridiculous than ever. Finally, Natalie smiles, self-satisfied and indulgent. "I tried to take this to your father in 1987. They were different then, of course. Muggles were still using them, by and large, with physical connections required; much more like the Floo at that time. Now, however, their convenience is staggering."

Draco nods, inviting her to continue.

"The Muggle world, Mister Malfoy, is constanting searching for new ways to live without magic. Our world, by contrast, has a tendency to grow complacent, arrogant in our superiority."

"So you… think there is a place for this type of project? Do we have the resources?"

She snorts a bit. "Our resources are fairly lacking, namely gold. I do, however, have some ideas if you would allow me?"

Draco nods, eager but trying to remain stoic. The woman has always struck him as a bit of a viper, though an oddly sincere and polite one. He imagines they are fortunate to have her on their side.

What Natalie lines out is a complete overhaul of the company, beginning with some of the veteran staff. Many, it would seem, have been collecting salaries off no more merit than being pure of blood and having history with Lucius or his father before him.

The investments as well, she has a thing or two to say in that regard. Some of the silent partnerships Lucius mentioned are with slightly unsavory firms in Knockturn Alley. The only one Natalie suggests they continue to back is Quality Quidditch Supplies. They had taken a hit when a competing outfit opened just before the war and found themselves indebted to the Malfoy family, much to their chagrin what with the gossip surrounding the Malfoy name. Now, they are a healthy competitor and one of the only respectable companies that will still do business with Lucius. Their gratitude and loyalty never wavered, despite their misgivings of the family and Quality's owner being rather outspoken against the corrupt Ministry during the war.

Natalie has little negative to say in regards to the Potions patents and import department, and Draco agrees it seems a healthy and autonomous segment of the business on the whole.

Her plan to fund and pursue communications advancements is sound, and Draco finds himself relieved to have a cohort in regards to his plan. He offers suggestions based on the technology as he has seen it in action, marrying the details with wizarding aesthetics and day-to-day life.

"When can you have a full budget proposal?" A lot of pieces need to fall into place, including a team of charms specialists, but Natalie is unruffled.

"By Thursday," she says, no nonsense and with ever-present challenge in her voice. There is no need; he believes her readily.

"Thursday, then," he says as he stands. "Same time?"

"Perhaps ten minutes earlier," she replies in a rare moment of levity. Draco laughs. He's just decided he likes the woman.

At the Manor, Draco greets his mother and tells his father in only the most vague terms that his plans are underway with Natalie at the helm. He owes him no more, if even that much, but he can't help but feel proud when Lucius tells him, "Well done."

In the Malfoy owlery, his smile finally falters, the energy of the day shriveling up in the face of disappointment. His owl has returned, the seventh flight in three days; no reply once again.

He pets the bird, praising and thanking him and asking for another flight. The owl nips at him lightly, affectionate and understanding.

On the outside of the scroll this time, rather than her name, Draco pens, "Please, please read this," and then begins to write.

He tells her once again that he is so incredibly sorry, begging her to speak with him in person, so that he might explain himself. He tells her he made strides today with his family's company, but that it feels hollow without her to share in his success. He tells her he loves her. Over and over in every way he can imagine, he professes his adoration and respect, pleading his case.

He fills the entire parchment, not even leaving room for a signature, and ties it to his owl, saying a prayer to the Gods that she at least reads it before burning it to ash.

* * *

Draco wakes early the next day and starts his morning at the owlery once more. No message, yet again. It's now the fourth day since his world fell apart. He makes a decision and Floos to Nott Manor, wishing his Muggle inventions were already wizarding standard. He hates the grimy feel of the powder on his hands.

"Bit early, isn't it?" Theo looks groggy and disheveled.

"Depends how late you stay up bonking the Chosen One, I expect. Look, is Potter there?"

A rustling and one head is replaced with another. "Morning, Malfoy."

He cuts to the chase. He has no other reason to speak to the tosser. "Have you seen Granger?"

Potter scrunches his face in irritation. "No, thanks to you. Not since Friday. She won't answer my owls, and she took the week with the Ministry."

Draco bristles that the man is blaming him, but really, he can't argue the point. Potter hid the truth on Draco's request. Or at the very least, on his insistence that it was the right thing to do.

"And you have no idea how to find her?" He sneers a bit, thinking Potter is a pretty poor friend if he has not even a guess where she might be.

"Not her office, not the Weasleys, not Grimmauld. Where have you tried?"

That stings. Draco can't tell if Potter is trying to make a point or honestly asking, but he feels like absolute rubbish that the answer is he hasn't tried anywhere. Skirting the question, he offers, "I've sent her probably ten owls. She accepts the message but never replies. I don't even know if she's reading them."

Potter chuckles with no humor. "She crumpled mine up and sent it back to me."

With a grimace, Draco notes, "Not sure if that's better or worse."

They both sit in silence for a moment, contemplative and tense. Finally, Potter sighs. "Look, Malfoy, Hermione doesn't do anything she doesn't want to, and right now, she doesn't want to be found so I've stopped looking. Maybe give her another few days?"

He nods in reply and they say their goodbyes, Theo yelling a farewell from the background. Truthfully, it's the worst fucking advice, and he has no intention to follow it. If there is the slightest chance she could misconstrue his silence as disinterest, he is not willing to risk it.

Dressing fully for the day, Draco makes his way out, searching for his witch.

The looks he receives are not much improved, and he side steps wizards and witches that glare and gawk as he reaches his destination.

Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes is as garish and he remembers, purple facade and frightening clownish sign. He knows relief like no other when it's the twin, not the youngest brother, that greets him.

"Malfoy! You know, I had the most interesting Floo call this morning. It seems a Natalie Taylor would like to meet with me in regards to one of my patents, at the Malfoy company headquarters no less. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

He offers a grin, and Draco feels like a bit of a heel that, no, he doesn't know a fucking thing about it. He left the particulars largely up to Natalie. But, rather than admit that, he smiles back and says offhandedly, "We have a lot of new things in the works. Natalie will share the details with you."

Weasley nods, seeming quite pleased, and asks, "If not about your mysterious business dealings, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You know Granger pretty well, as I understand it." Draco tries not to grimace, remembering just _how_ well.

The twin cocks his head and eyes him. "Well enough. Any reason you ask?"

He begins with the excuse that he rehearsed all the way here, trying to affect a nonchalant posture and easy smile. "I was thinking of doing something nice for her. Are there specific places she likes to go? Not restaurants, of course; we do that often. More like… a weekend holiday? Anywhere she frequents?"

There is a long and unbearable silence. The look on George's face morphs as his mouth stretches into a wide and knowing grin full of teeth. "You've had a row."

"I… what? It's a simple enough question-"

"Is she avoiding you, then?

Draco feels cornered. As panicked as a marten staring down a hound. Finally, he spins on his heel and makes for the door. "If you've no ideas, I understand. Good luck at your meeting."

He almost makes it to the door when he feels a rush of magic past his knees and the door clicks locked in front of him. He turns, indignant and angry, feeling threatened and vulnerable.

"Sorry, sorry. Look, there's no reason to be dodgy about it. Hermione is a bit temperamental. If she's blowing off a bit of steam, you might want to let it rest."

Preceded by a short pause, Draco finally admits, "It's been four days. I want to make sure she's alright."

Weasley squints his eyes a bit, studying. "What'd you do?"

"Something unbelievable stupid." He means that literally. No one could possibly believe this level of utter cock up.

"Have you tried her parents' place?"

The world stops for just a moment. All spinning, sound, breathing, light… Everything narrows into vast blackness, a pinpoint of hope on the horizon?

"Her parents?"

"Right. Hampstead. You know what happened to them, right?" At Draco's nod, George continues. "She still has the house. Hasn't been there since last summer as far as I know, but maybe if she doesn't want to be found…?" He trails off, letting Draco fill in the blanks.

"Do you know how to find it?"

The wizard shrugs. "Never been there, but I know it's in Hampstead Garden. Could probably ask a Muggle."

Draco eyes him, then nods, a moment of understanding between them. "Thanks, Weasley."

"Anytime. See you Sunday?" He's so earnest, open and lacking guile, that Draco blinks before responding with honesty.

"I hope so." Then, he leaves the shop to follow his new lead.

* * *

It's not difficult, honestly. Draco finds that Muggles are oddly helpful when presented with a question. Before he knows it, he is standing at a door in Hampstead Garden, asking a stout woman if she knows the Grangers.

"Oh, of course, dearie. Just two houses down on the other side. Half-hidden with bushes. Such a private family. Haven't seen them around in… Well, goodness, maybe not for a year or more."

Draco thanks her, the woman seeming more than happy to help a "friend of their daughter" in locating them, and makes his way down the street.

It's mid afternoon by now, the day slipping away from him. He tries the front door first, knocking and standing politely, preparing himself in case the house is wrong and a Muggle greets him. No one answers the door, so he tries again before sneaking his wand from his robes for a quick _Revelio_. No life shows under the spell's compulsion, but if Hermione is indeed in residence, she might have warded against it.

Circling the house, Draco finds himself in a lush, if somewhat overgrown back garden. The back of the house itself is riddled with windows, showing a glimpse inside to a nicely furnished home. Trying the back door, he knocks again and waits. After some time, he decides to try the knob and finds it locked. _Alohomora_ does the trick.

He steps into a kitchen bathed in oranges, scents of citrus in the air. He continues on, passing through a large sitting room with those eerie Muggle photos on the walls. Unmoving, he has always found Muggle photos off-putting. Most seem to feature a couple in various stages of their lives. The woman is stately with a long neck and warm smile. The man has Hermione Granger's mouth and eyes. Any doubt that he has found the correct house leaves him, and he moves into the next room.

The house is spacious and well decorated but not the sprawl of his Manor, and he tours the entire residence quickly, finding a bedroom that must have been Hermione's, lined as it is with books. He wonders idly if the Grangers, upon losing their memories, had thought this to be their library turned guest room.

The last room is back on the ground floor and completes his circle back toward the kitchen. A dining room with windows floor to ceiling and a large round table seating eight, a pile of missives sit like a mocking center piece, not one of their seals broken.

Draco falls into one of the chairs and reaches for one of his messages, turning it in his hand. Accepted, but not acknowledged; collected, but not read. She may as well have sent them back with his owl. Worst of all, she's not here, and Draco doesn't know if she will return. He found nothing of hers throughout the house. No clothing, no food or signs of life, trash or otherwise. Perhaps he had been right that she doesn't want to be found. Maybe it was a mistake to come here, to force himself into her presence. Maybe she saw him outside and Apparated away…

He drags himself from the table and, with one last look at the house where a little girl grew up into a powerful witch, he spins in place and retreats to the Manor, appearing at the gates and trudging back up the path to the door.

Pipsy appears to greet him, but Draco can hardly even look at the elf, defeated as he feels.

"Mistress Narcissa is looking for Master. Mistress says it's nearly time for tea."

A bolt strikes Draco and he groans, burying his head in his hands. Fucking tea. He completely forgot, this was supposed to be the day that Hermione Granger met his mother properly. The day he wanted his mother to fall in love with her even just a little, a fraction of the affection Draco himself feels for her. Instead, he must make his excuses. Does he tell her that it's over? That there is no need to meet Hermione because the witch likely hates him with more venom than even during the war? Or does he beg off, stating a need to reschedule in the unlikely hope that they might reconcile in the coming days?

Marching as if to the gallows, Draco approaches the solarium, catching sight of his mother through the open door. She has her tea cup poised at her lip, and then she smiles across the room before catching Draco's eye. Just before he enters, she speaks.

"Draco, darling, I must say you're not one for tardiness. Please join us."

His eyes go wide at the invitation just as he crosses the threshold and catches full sight of the room.

There, in a daffodil yellow wingback, looking angelic in a white sundress, is Granger. Her expression is even, eyes betraying nothing as she looks at him.

"Hello, Draco."

In a daze, he takes a seat.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and thanks to LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal, and every lovely human who is reading this story!

Hermione feels Draco before she sees him, the hairs pricking on the back of her neck. Somehow his presence has become such an innate instinct to recognize that she doesn't need to hear Narcissa speak to him to know he has arrived. She straightens herself, strengthening her demeanor.

The witch across from her smiles softly at her son, greeting him with affectionate chastising as to his late arrival and inviting him to join. Hermione turns her head to look at him. Honestly, he looks a bit wretched. Handsome, of course. He would be hard pressed to look unattractive, but there is something in the tightness of his mouth and the hollows of his eyes that belies his frame of mind. He's obviously hurting, and it's all Hermione can do not to soften completely. But she's owed an explanation and a lot of apologizing if she is even going to entertain the notion of speaking to him again.

She might have taken more time for herself to cool her ire if it wasn't for this afternoon's tea. This meeting with his mother was an obligation she had scheduled, and no one can say Hermione Granger doesn't meet her obligations.

"Hello, Draco."

He seems a bit surprised when she addresses him. A hesitant nod, then he is crossing the room to his mother. Narcissa leans her face into him, and he kisses her lightly, a brush of lips on the tip of her delicate cheekbone.

Stepping around the low table between them, he approaches Hermione next, apprehension on his face. When he is close, virtually blocking his mother from her view, Hermione leans her own cheek toward him. It's the most uncomfortable she has felt around him since they reconnected, even more than that first day in the tea shop, when she had been tired after hours of searching for her marten.

The memory is raw, and she closes her eyes as his lips connect with her cheek, decidedly more solid than the barely-there brush he gave his mother. Hermione isn't sure if she's offended he still thinks he has the right or happy she still ranks higher than the woman watching them.

Passing in front of her, Draco takes the seat to Hermione's left and reaches for the saucer and cup placed for him. His pinky immediately extends, and he takes a quiet sip of his perfectly steeped tea.

"Miss Granger was just telling me about her position at the Ministry. I've never been one for politics myself, of course, but I suppose government is a necessity to keep order amongst the masses.

A retort sits on her tongue. Something to the effect of, 'if only we had a Dark overlord to tell us how to live,' but Hermione manages to drown that in a swallow of tea. "I've always had aspirations of social involvement," she says instead and leaves it at that.

Narcissa doesn't seem to know what to do with the comment or Hermione's mild attitude, so she turns to Draco. "Have you been to the company today?"

He shakes his head. "No, I've left Natalie with instructions. She's building a team for the next step in the process."

Hermione finds herself surprised. Though he has mentioned being interested in revamping the Malfoy business, he had made no move to do so in the past weeks. Suddenly she wishes she'd read his owls. What if they were not apologies at all, but instead full of placating comments that this was all for the best and that he would be moving on with his life?

_Not likely,_ she continues in her thoughts, _or he would not appear so haggard._ Another sip of tea.

The conversation between mother and son volleys between them another minute or two. All the while, Hermione drinks and sits, waiting, unsure what is expected from her. She doesn't wonder long, Narcissa turning the conversation back to her with practiced ease.

"Which is exactly why I had hoped for tea with the both of you. I know we have had a contentious history between us, but I do hope you know I only want what is best for my son."

"As do all mothers, I'm sure." Competing with Narcissa Malfoy on who can sound the most placid is quite the challenge, but Hermione continues to meet the woman tit for tat.

"Indeed. At the least, he had all intention to leave Britain before you and he became reacquainted. In that, at least, I can be thankful to you."

"If you mean to suggest I somehow convinced him to stay, I assure you, I put no pressure on him." Her reply remains even, voice so calm there is hardly inflection at all.

Narcissa gives her a bland smile. "Of course not, dear. From my perspective, it seemed you didn't need to do anything to convince him. He chose to heel all on his own."

Hermione nearly starts. The phrasing is suspect, and she wonders if the woman knows about his Animagus form. Feeling a bit like the continued butt of a joke, she looks to Draco. His face gives nothing away, stoically drinking his tea.

The afternoon progresses, torturously slow, painfully civil, until they have all finished their second cup and the finger sandwiches are taken away.

"Draco, darling, she's come all the way here. Perhaps Miss Granger would like a tour of the gardens before you leave."

The prospect is nerve wracking. Being alone with Draco, Hermione is aware, is something that needs to happen. Yet, she doesn't feel ready and tries to argue. "That's really not necessary. I'd hate to over extend your hospitality-"

"Nonsense." Narcissa looks between them. "I am aware what it must have cost you to be here. I promise you, there is nothing left of the Manor that you would recognize from… before. Draco, show her what the Malfoy name used to mean." She adds as an aside, voice subtly more warm than before, "I take quite a bit of pride in my roses now that this cursed house isn't actively trying to kill them. Show her a little beauty in your family, my dragon."

Well, how the bloody hell is she supposed to say 'no' to that? Hermione resolves herself to accept, rising unsteadily to her feet. "Thank you, Missus Malfoy. I appreciate the invitation. I'd be honored to see your gardens."

The woman looks unnaturally pleased and motions for them to go ahead. "I'll just stay and direct Pipsy in tidying up. Enjoy yourselves." She smiles, and it's probably the most sincere of the day. Hermione wonders if she somehow won her over, though she can't imagine how, as stiff as she's been.

"Granger?" She looks over to find Draco offering his elbow for her to take. Right: the tour.

Gingerly, she places her hand on his arm and allows herself to be led away. He is quiet as they walk the corridor, not looking at her, arm extended and still. At a set of beautiful double doors, clear glass looking out at grounds that would rival Versailles, he removes his arm so he might open the doors and gestures for her to go through.

She precedes him then waits, looking out over the lush blooms and listening as the door closes and his footsteps bring him near. She isn't sure that he will speak, quiet as he was during tea.

He steps to her side and stands there for a long time, breathing slowly, posture tall. Hermione resigns herself to being the one that must speak. Perhaps it is her turn, after all. He probably said all he feels he needs to in the owls she didn't read. She rehearses, wondering where to begin.

_How could you?_

_Why?_

_Did you enjoy yourself?_

_Does your mother know?_

All manner of approaches, from hurt to dripping in snark, yet she remains quiet, feeling her feet against the earth and the sun on her skin. Being present. Preparing.

"I didn't think you would come."

He says it so quietly, she could have missed it had she'd not been concentrating on the world around her.

"I said that I would." She still doesn't look at him; can't bring herself to. Hermione isn't sure what she wants from Draco in this moment, but she's certain she wants him to do something. Is there anything he could say profound enough to fix this? She's not sure, but it's on him to try.

"You didn't answer my owls."

Everything he says is so cold. So deadpan... She grits her teeth, wanting him to show her something before she plays her cards. She has emotion enough for both of them but refuses to be alone in the heartbreak.

"No, I didn't," she says, and almost leaves it at that. Throwing him the smallest of bones, she adds, "Perhaps you would like to tell me about them in person."

"Hermione..." He steps in front of her, eyes the color of autumn clouds, and searches her face. "Hermione, I'm so sorry."

She meets him with a cool expression, unimpressed. "So you said." He can't possibly think that means anything without saying more.

"I swear, I never meant for this. I never wanted to lie to you."

Her eyes prick, and she curses herself for it. She doesn't want to be weak now, to show how much he has wrecked her. "Then why did you?" she asks softly. Her eyes fall from his face as she tries in vain to blink the gathering moisture away.

Draco approaches again, cautious, and this time she allows it, standing her ground. His hands gently cup her arms, and Hermione closes her eyes in a vain attempt to protect her heart. The action forces the first teardrop to fall, shoved out to the curve of her cheek where it rolls down and settles at the corner of her lips.

"I don't think anything I can say is going to make sense," he says softly. "I can take you through the weeks, explain the course of events — and I will if that's what you want — but the reality is I made a series of bad decisions."

She feels him lift one hand and run his thumb over her cheek, erasing the second tear as it cascades down. "Anything I can give you is yours. If you'll let me, I'll tell you how it all happened and why it took so long to confess. Any question you have, I will answer with detailed honesty." She opens her eyes to find him studying her, lips turned down in concern. "I'll love you for as long as you let me, Granger."

Her voice is rough when she asks, "And if I don't?"

Draco's answering smile is devastating in its sorrow. He tilts his head to one side, regarding her. "I'll love you anyway, and I'll fight harder, but, in the end, if you don't want me, I'll let you go."

Tears fall more freely, salt pooling along the crease of her lips as her breath shudders. "Fight harder, then," she demands, anger giving force to her otherwise frail voice.

She isn't sure what she expects, but when he kisses her, hard, she sobs against his mouth before answering him with urgency. There, just outside the Manor where she learned torture, where generations have sought to eradicate her kind, Hermione takes from him with an almost-violence, devouring his affections and bleeding out with resignation and relief. His hands dig into her hair, fingertips gripping at her scalp and holding her in place. He hunches his shoulders, folding his taller frame down to reach her just as she elevates on her toes to get to him.

Her hands are only idle a moment before they have wrapped themselves around his neck, nearly strangling him as she holds tight, he the only anchor keeping her from sinking into the earth. Has it only been a matter of days? It feels like he's been gone from her life for ages, and her magic sings in her blood for the first time since she walked away from him.

The desperation lessens so naturally it could make her weep were she not already dripping with tears. He knows her so well, could feel her start to soften and responds in kind. His mouth drifts just out of reach as his forehead presses gently against hers. "I'm going to need more than a kiss, you know," she says, eyes still closed, and feels him nod against her.

"I know. I meant what I said: anything you need. Can we talk? There's a pagoda just there..." Draco pulls away from her but keeps one hand just beneath her jaw as he tips his head to indicate the direction. "Behind the willows. We wouldn't be disturbed."

Hermione scoffs lightly. "Your mother is likely waiting behind the shrubberies for an opening to interrogate us further." He gives her the slightest laugh in agreement as she continues, "But yes, lead the way."

Draco pulls away further, trailing his hand down her arm until he can grasp her fingers lightly in his own. She doesn't fight the gesture, nor does she grip back particularly hard. She's still so angry, reeling from the emotions churning within her heart, from the cascade of thoughts fighting for attention in her mind. She follows him, somewhat dazed, hardly even seeing the wondrous gardens around her.

A stone foot path leads them into a copse of thick willows, branches hiding a small structure. It is flavoured with Japanese aesthetic while melded with the gothic grandeur of the Malfoy estate. Within, comfortable benches are placed around the exterior. Draco leads her to one and gestures for her to sit before taking a place just beside her.

"This is quite opulent," she notes, taking a moment to study the gold trims and wooden carvings more closely.

Draco nods, glancing about in the perfunctory way of someone born to the height of luxury. "It was installed by one of my grandfathers: Septimus. His wife was of Japanese descent and not terribly fond of the Manor, or so I'm told. This was her private retreat."

He falls silent and she lets him, staring out into the tangle of willows. Any other time, she might have found this fascinating, but today, all of her interest lays at Draco's deception. She continues gazing into the thick of leaves, seeing nothing, as she waits for the efforts he has promised.

A breeze ruffles her curls, too light to disturb the quiet, not a bird calling when he starts to speak.

"I went back to Hogwarts on July fifteenth under orders from the Ministry. The Wizengamot was split, as I'm sure you gathered if you read _The Prophet._ I was one vote away from Azkaban. Instead, they sent me to help with the restoration efforts."

Hermione glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He's not looking at her — just gazing into the same leafy abyss on which she had focused. She lets him speak.

"No one would work with me. The teams were mostly faculty and Order members, and no one would so much as let me move rubble. I bounced from team to team for a couple of weeks until finally Flitwick shuffled me off to the fourth floor by myself. Told me to clean up one of the Defence classrooms. It hadn't been touched since the battle, no one had even looked in, and I—"

He swallows, eyes closing and throat bobbing. "The floor was littered with dead creatures, pixies mostly, all tiny broken bodies, rotting... You almost couldn't help but step on them if you crossed the room. I didn't… they didn't give me a wand until school was in session."

She blinks, envisioning the scene and feeling sick all over.

"I gathered them up by hand — the bodies, the ripped off wings — and put them all into an old trunk with broken hinges and carried them outside to the grounds. I retched twice before I'd finished. No one stopped me or asked what I was doing. I took a spade from the greenhouses and buried the trunk by the forest."

Unsure if she is expected to react, Hermione waits for him to continue, glancing back at him again, at the pained expression on his face.

"McGonagall asked me that night what I'd done all day, and I couldn't tell her. I just shrugged and said I'd picked up a bit. She sent me back to my room and told me I could just sit out the rest of the efforts; that I was only there because the Ministry forced me on her, and my help was not required. I'm not entirely sure if she was trying to do me a favour or everyone else.

That was the last time I left the dungeons until classes began. A House Elf brought my meals, and I mostly read for the rest of the month. I had nothing but time, so I found something to do; I started working toward an Animagus transformation."

He turns to her finally, and Hermione sees the glassy sheen to his eyes. She imagines hers look rather the same.

"For months, I was keeping my head down as best I could, but a lot of students wanted me to remember very clearly what I'd done. Ravenclaws were the worst," he adds with a little shake of his head, remembering. "There was… they found a Boggart; set it on me when they caught me out alone." He closes his eyes and swallows, and Hermione doesn't want to force more.

"They can be vicious," she offers, softly. "They bullied Luna, and she was one of theirs."

He nods a bit, acknowledging, before he continues. "After all that, I was counting down the days, just hoping to get away from everyone. But, I realized, it would be no different anywhere else. Diagon, Hogsmeade, the Ministry… Even Knockturn didn't want anything to do with my family. Every proprietor on the street was separating themselves from the Dark Lord, winning back favour with exclusives in _The Prophet_ , spilling whatever inane secrets they had squirreled away just to gain some respectability."

Draco waves his hand in an arc, indicating the grounds before them. "This was the only place I could go, but I didn't want to be here, either. Lucius had plans for me I didn't trust, and Mother… She loves me deeply, but I couldn't be the paste holding this family together. Not after the years they stood and watched while He broke me."

Hermione swallows. It's an ugly picture he paints, and her heart, desperately in love with him despite everything, breaks a little, though she's not sure how all of this leads to her.

"The day you found me… found Benedick… I was waiting for someone to come along. My plan was simple: to disappear. I told Theo I was travelling, owled my mother a vaguely similar story, and pretended to be amongst the students Flooing or Apparating home. But I still had a Ministry trace for long distance Apparition until the day after classes ended. Without a Floo signature or trigger to the trace, it would be very difficult for my family, or anyone really, to find me. I just wanted to leave quietly, vanish, with no one knowing where, and stay gone for as long as I needed. I hoped someone would take me along somewhere, not really caring for specifics."

He looks over to her with much more intensity in his gaze, tears replaced with a profound sincerity. "I didn't know it would be you. And you were...Granger, do you have any idea...? How fucking wonderful you are?" She blushes, but he doesn't pause at compliments, moving the story forward.

"I've never been treated with as much kindness as you gave to a lost pet. Fuck, I could have nearly lived like that forever. And you were different, too, than what I had always thought about you. So fucking thoughtful. _Insightful._ I loved listening to you talk, how you would engage yourself in conversation. And vulnerable. I saw a side of you I didn't ever consider to exist."

Hermione furrows her brow at the last part. "I'm like anyone else, Draco. Everyone is unhappy sometimes."

He smiles at her, a little crooked, a little sad. "You were devastated, and I hated seeing you that way. You always gave Potter your sunniest smiles, always doled out affection, but you hurt when we were alone."

He looks back into the trees once again, strengthening his voice to continue. "The day I left Grimmauld as the marten, the first day I ran into you as myself… Meeting you was a complete accident. I was running, already knowing you were growing attached. Fuck…" he runs his hand through his hair as he comments, "So was I; hopelessly attached already. I thought I could just cut and run. You could get a new pet, and I could find a new start. But when I saw you and you were panicking, looking for that stupid weasel I become, I couldn't leave."

He sighs, leaning back against the post behind his side of the bench. "So, I went back. It just got worse from there. The more I saw you as Draco, the more I wanted to be with you. I fell in love with you before I knew what was happening. By the time Potter caught me out…" Draco shrugs. "I'd basically resigned myself that I was going to ruin my entire life one way or another, but was trying to find a way not to hurt you. Which… I failed in that spectacularly."

Hermione finds it in herself to snort at that in agreement. He turns his body toward her and finishes, "And that's it. The entire ridiculous affair. The high points, anyway. You know the parts where I was attacked by a dog or ate fish out of Potter's hand. The worst year of my fucking life, yet the best thing that ever happened to me came from it all."

Sitting in contemplation, she knows he is waiting for her to respond; is positive he's on tenterhooks waiting for her to pass judgment.

She knows she will forgive him. She knew it before he said a word.

Because she loves him too much not to.

"And if you had it all to do again? Knowing what you know now?"

That sad smile warms slightly as he considers. "If I had a time turner and could just fix all of this? I'd find you September first and kiss you in the Great Hall. I'd tell you how beautiful you are, apologize for everything. On my knees, if you wanted."

And then he does just that, drops from the bench onto his knees before her, gently taking her hand in his own.

"Oh, Draco, no. Stop-"

"I'm so sorry," he says again. It's not the first time he's said, or the second or third, but the quality of his voice makes her breath catch. "I was a coward the one time I even hinted at telling you. Please, Granger… Tell me I can find a way back to you."

A tear tracks her skin. She'd hardly realized she'd started crying again. "Draco…" she says his name broken, a word cracked over her tongue, shattering like glass, and she's pulling at him, dragging him to sit beside her, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against him. His grip is bruising in turn, and he whispers his apologies over and over into her curls, the wind nearly carrying them away.

She already forgiving him just as she knew she would; knew it the day he revealed himself and the lie he had been living. Even as she ran from him, she had known she would find herself here, accepting him back into her life.

Pulling herself away, she cups his cheeks. "I'm still really upset, you know."

He nods, grey eyes wet.

"But I love you too much to let you go." At the slight widening of his eyes that seems to predict a smile, she shuts down his reaction, cold. "But, if you ever do anything like this again, _lie_ to me, you will regret it for a very long time from inside a cage made of yarn."

He laughs, surprised and seeming to be holding in a sob of relief, before gathering her into his arms. He holds her there, neither of them speaking, until the shadows begin to chase the sun through the trees, dusk on the horizon.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my team as always LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal
> 
> We have nearly reached the end! Thank you to all of you for reading and following along with me!

Draco is hardly aware of the darkness closing in, lost as he is in the feel of Hermione tucked against him.

They've been sitting together, silent under the shelter of his family's pagoda, since before the sunset. The sounds of night have slowly encroached, insects and night birds calling around them, a bright moon glinting off the water features of the Manor gardens.

"What happens now?"

He shifts his head, looking down at the top of her curls, words eluding him. What, indeed? His arm closes more tightly around her, anchoring them together in the dark.

"I suppose I should stay at the Manor tonight," he answers, finally. "I'm sure you might appreciate… space."

He feels her shift her weight and is momentarily concerned she is making to pull away. She doesn't, but there is a stiffness in her posture.

"I haven't decided where I'm staying," she tells him. "But yes, that would probably be best."

Hours it has taken him to speak a word, and now it only feels more awkward than before. Has he ruined everything, after all? "Hermione?"

She looks up, her face a study in shadows and the blue light of moon kissing the bones of her cheeks, the slant of her nose. "I'm not sure what to do next. I suppose it's not fair to ask it of you, but if you could give me any direction… some idea of what I can do to make this right?"

She shakes her head, searching his eyes. "I don't know that there is a way to _make_ it right. Time, I suppose."

He closes his eyes, pained at the truth, harsh as arctic wind.

"Can I see you home, at least?"

"Back where we started," she notes with a soft laugh, barely more than an exhalation of breath, but he offers a smile at the effort.

"Back where we started. Feels a bit like starting over," he adds with no little amount of sorrow then stands and offers his hand to her.

Hermione only hesitates a moment before she takes it. He supposes he should be grateful she accepted at all. "I'll walk you to the Floo if you are going to Grimmuald."

"I'm not sure I'm ready to see Harry yet."

What in Merlin's name makes him do it, Draco could never say, but he finds some sympathy for the git and offers, "I'm fairly certain he feels terrible. He only kept it from you because I begged him."

"No, he kept it from me because he thought it was best, nevermind that you convinced him. I almost understand your motivations better, honestly. _You_ had self-preservation in the mix; Harry just likes to think he knows better than other people." She adds with a grumble under her breath, "It's one of his very notable personality quirks."

Draco swallows, still wondering why he is even bothering, and argues, "He's a tosser, but he does tend to care. And, from personal experience, sometimes caring for someone makes you do really fucking stupid things."

She smiles, just a little, and tucks a curl behind her ear, her other hand still held in his. "Stupid like trying to convince me to forgive your mortal enemy?"

With a roll of his eyes, Draco allows a little smirk. "Please. Potter's hardly interesting enough to be my mortal enemy."

Hermione's answering chuckle is more beautiful than a siren's call. He swallows, and, slippery Slytherin that he is, offers a half truth. "I was told you might be at your parents' home. Is that where you'll be staying?"

She nods, studying him. "I figured Harry knew. I appreciate he gave me my privacy anyway."

Pulling her gently by the hand, Draco leads her back to the footpath, talking along the way. "Potter did look for you at first. He might have just realized if you'd gone to such lengths, you didn't want to be found."

"I didn't," Hermione admits, carefully picking her way across the cobbled decorative stones in the low light. "Honestly, I probably would have hid away a bit longer if not for this meeting with your mother."

She pauses in step, their hands tugging against each other as he is suddenly brought to a halt. When he looks at her, she had her face tilted away. "I think, maybe, I'm glad I came, though."

In the moonlight, his witch bathed in shadows, he finds her jaw with gentle touch and turns her toward him. A cautious kiss to her lips, feet shuffle forward until they are toe to toe, Draco shows her how very glad he is as well. When he pulls back, he whispers, a secret in the dark, "I was terrified I'd never see you again. I've never felt more worthless than I have these past days."

"It's been lonely," she confesses. "No Benedick, no Harry, no you…" Pulling back, she gives him a look he can't define, like she's searching but also accusing. "You've really given me no choice but to forgive you."

"I'll earn it," he counters quickly. "It is certainly not my intention to force my way back into your life. I want you to _give_ me my place."

Hermione nods and turns to continue up the path, her hand still held within his. Draco trails just slightly after, guilt still churning. He's lied to her so much for so long, the entirety of their love affair based on deception.

"I went to find you," he blurts out after her. They have just reached the large double doors that lead back inside the Manor.

She turns again and waits for explanation, one brow raised.

"To your parents' home. Weasley was the one that suggested you might be there, and I looked for you, but no one was there. It was today, just before I arrived for tea. And I should have said as much, but I was afraid you might be angry that I was looking when you didn't want to be found."

He takes a breath, a silent prayer for understanding flitting through his mind. "It was my last chance. I'm sorry, I know you wanted space, but I was desperate to find you." He feels his expression crumple a little, unable to keep his mask in place, the panic showing through in his eyes.

She looks at him, head tilted to the side. "I know." He doesn't react much, unsure what it is she had known, so he waits for her to continue. "I have wards at the house. I knew the moment you entered."

Draco gapes a bit, not entirely certain what this means. He clarifies, voice small, "You knew?"

With a shrug, she opens the door to the Manor and steps through, commenting over her shoulder. "I appreciate the honesty. You'll find I'm fairly understanding if you give me a chance. Though, I can't believe you went to Ron for anything."

"Not him," Draco denies, wrinkling his nose. "The twin."

Her eyes widen for a moment. She must know what that cost him, tracking down another lover to find her.

The remainder of the walk is made in silence, Draco processing and holding onto Hermione's hand like she might take it all back any moment.

Once they arrive at the Floo, a massive fireplace, tall enough that even the rather gangly Weasley could walk through unbent, Draco drops her hand and lifts a small silver chest from the mantle. He proffers the container, lifting the lid to show a supply of Floo powder. "If you prefer I not know where you're going, I can step away before you call it out."

"No," she says with a shake of her head and reaches for the box, "it's fine. I'm going to Grimmauld after all, I suppose. Harry might not even be home, but I should see him if he is. Can't ignore the sod forever, can I?"

Surprised into a grin, Draco shakes his head in agreement. "No, not forever. Tenacious bastard probably won't wait much longer."

They stand a moment more, quiet and contemplative, their tentative smiles slowly falling from their faces. Draco eventually clears his throat. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"I'm going back to work tomorrow," she says by way of answer. It's dismissive, and he feels not at all welcome to her evening.

"Right. Perhaps this weekend? Maybe I can take you out, if you'll allow me?"

Her nod is hesitant, but it's there, and Draco allows himself a grin. He takes a chance, harkening to better times. "Brunch, Sunday?"

His grin grows into something hopeful when she pretends to think then answers with a cautious smile, "My treat. But dinner Saturday is on you."

After a beat of silence, Draco unsure if he should embrace her, kiss her, or simply let her go, she asks very quietly, "Can I see him again?"

He isn't sure what she means, until suddenly he is. "You want me to…?"

Nodding, she sets the floo powder to the side. "I just need to see. Please."

Denying her nothing, sure he never will again if she will only love him, Draco takes a breath and wills his body back into the fur adorned animal that captured her heart before the wizard had the chance.

He looks up at her, ears down with shame, and tracks her movement as she kneels before him and whispers, "May I?"

Granger's hand finds his head and his eyes close at the relief of her touch. "Draco?" His gaze snaps open as she sits back on her heels. "It really is you. Sorry, I just… needed to see him again."

When she stands, he shifts again and doesn't know what he can possibly say. So he looks at her, eyes earnest, until she nods and mutters, "Right then," and disappears into the floo.

* * *

Hermione doesn't know how to verbalize what she's feeling, let alone kiss Draco goodbye, and leaves feeling things are once again quite stilted. As much as she is trying to forgive, she's at her limit of understanding. Instead, she turns away from him and activates the Floo.

Finding herself back at Harry's home, she looks around with a sigh, heart still pounding from watching Draco once again become her beloved little Benedick.

It's quiet at Grimmauld, and she would imagine Harry is off somewhere with Theo. Hermione calls for him, just to be sure, but is met with silence.

She walks past the chair where Benedick had taken his naps, and it hurts all over again. It's like being in mourning, though no one has actually died. Come to think of it, that's very much descriptive of her feelings toward her parents. Why does she keep losing things, even though they are almost close enough to touch?

She is weary by the time she makes her way to her room, finding it largely undisturbed. A letter is set upon her side table, presumably delivered by owl and collected by Harry. Familiar messy scrawl tells her that Ron was thinking they could have dinner, the two of them and Harry. She appreciates the gesture, smiling at the parchment. Penning a quick reply, a vague acceptance on a day of his choosing, she makes her way to the top floor and finds Ogden napping on a perch. One eye peeps open as her shuffling feet seems to wake the bird.

"I'm terribly sorry, darling. I hadn't meant to wake you. This can wait until after you've rested."

Seeming in answer, the owl opens both eyes wider and stretches its impressive wings into its full spread before folding them back to its body and hooting softly at her.

"If you're sure. But really, it's no hurry…" She ties the letter to Ogden's leg and summons a handful of treats. "For your trouble. Thank you; I appreciate your work ethic."

It gives her a look, an owl equivalent of a raised brow if she were to guess, and then disappears out the open window, spelled to allow passage but the elements kept at bay with a weather charm.

She stays for awhile, looking out into the night sky and contemplating the choices before her. She has relationships to repair and not just with Draco. Hermione has some forgiveness to dole out, though she might let them sweat for a bit.

But some relationships are easy in their own way. For instance, it will be good to see Ron again. Somehow, they always find their way back to one another, the Gryffindor golden three. Additionally, Ron's been more on than off with Lavender recently, and Hermione has been with Draco, so surely he wouldn't do anything questionable.

Thinking along those lines, she wonders if Ron knows about Draco, about her familiar. If he does, would his attentions turn less innocent? She groans out loud and buries her face in her hands.

This is how Harry finds her.

"You're home."

She looks up to find him standing in the doorframe, cautious, like she's a wounded rabbit. She immediately straightens. "I was just sending an owl. I hope that's alright." She says it because you're supposed to, but honestly, if Harry has a problem with her taking liberties, she would be happy to tell him where he can go.

"I know. I was at the Burrow."

"Oh." That's a bit of a surprise. "I assumed you were with Theo."

He grins. "I was, actually. Making him 'meet the parents' I suppose you could say."

Hermione blinks. "You did? Oh," she says on an exhale. "Oh, Harry, that's wonderful."

And then her eyes prick with tears, and she feels like such a complete and utter fool but could never, with all the words in her impressive vocabulary, explain why.

Harry's arms are around her in less than a heartbeat. "'Mione, I'm so, so sorry. Fuck, I've missed you, you ridiculous girl."

She sniffles, countering will all manner of petulance, " _You're_ ridiculous."

"No, I'm a complete knob, but I still missed you." He pulls back and studies her, hands on her shoulders. "Are you coming back? That is, will you be staying?"

Hermione crumbles all over again, shoulders giving under the weight of relief and sadness, head falling to the side. "Of course, I am. This is my home… Isn't it?"

Harry pulls her back in, and he doesn't need to say it for her to know the answer. This is home, and he is family, and nothing will come between them, not even this.

And, Merlin, if they can weather this, they can probably handle anything.

When they separate again, Harry invites her downstairs, offers to make her tea, and she indulges in letting him do things for her. She feels pretty entitled to a little pampering, in fact.

In her usual chair, Hermione watches him putter around and tries very hard not to smile at how adorable he is. Not smiling is easier when her eyes drift to the place on the floor where a dish used to sit, the image of Benedick munching on a bit of salmon far too vibrant in her memories.

"So, have you spoken to Malfoy?"

She looks up as a cup is placed in front of her, her friend taking his seat across the table. "I did," she answers. "Today. I went to the Manor, actually."

"To see him?"

Hermione shakes her head. "To see his mother. We had plans to have tea, and you know how I hate to cancel on an obligation."

Harry shakes his head at her, amused and disbelieving. Hermione knows that her sense of duty to pre-scheduled events is not something shared by her friend. If Harry didn't want to go, he simply wouldn't. "He was surprised to see you there, I'd wager. I have to say, he's been going insane trying to find you."

"Quite. Though, he had apparently tried the Hampstead house. George, the traitor, gave it up." Harry grins a little at that, and she loses the battle fighting her own. "But, yes, he was surprised. We talked, though. It was... good."

"And have you forgiven him?"

She ponders that. Has she? She said she would… intended to, even… but has she? After a moment she gives a weak nod. "In a way. I understand why he did it, I suppose. Though to be honest, I think I'm still in shock. Who could have ever come up with something this ludicrous? He was my _pet_ , Harry. I just can't… Wrapping my mind around the entire affair has been a challenge."

Quietly, barely audible, he ventures, "And me?"

He looks so afraid of what she might say, that Hermione melts ever further, done in by the boyish audacity of Harry Potter. "I forgive you, you git. But I expect a lot of tea in my future. In fact, I think you should bring me some nice Earl Grey at the office. The tea selection on my level is abysmal."

"Anything you want," he says with a crooked grin. "I'll bring you a cauldron full."

She laughs a little and tells him that won't be necessary. "What on earth would I do with a cauldron full of tea? A cup would be fine."

"Maybe one of those Muggle travel sort. Bigger than a cup."

And just like that, one of the pieces of Hermione's broken heart is seamed together. Maybe not as good as new, but enough to leave a sincere smile on her lips while he tells her about his evening.

Theo has been fitting in quite well with the Weasleys, he comments. They only called it an early night after Hermione's owl arrived. Harry has not told anyone exactly what happened with Draco or Benedick, a fact which puts her a bit more at ease, but simply stating that he needed to speak with her was enough for him to sneak away. He'd escorted Theo to the Apparition point then made his way immediately to Grimmauld, relief, he says, flooding him upon finding her in Ogden's room.

Once they have drained their cups, Hermione excuses herself, ready to find sleep. Harry bids her a good night and disappears behind his own door.

Only, once she is alone once again sleep refuses to find her. The bed is cold and spacious, the window, cracked just so, reminds her that no Benedick will be sneaking through the space in the dead of night. She's angry all over again, and just as sad.

She showers, hoping it will set her to rights.

She writes an owl, letting her office know that she will be out one more day but will see them the next.

She paces and bites at her nails and huffs at the empty bedroom...

She can't stay here. How she thought she could is beyond her. Does Draco really think one conversation and a few kisses would fix this? She agreed to forgive him, but that doesn't mean she can't still be angry, at least, not as far as she's concerned.

Hermione imagines her parents' empty home, visualizes sleeping again in that massive bed. She shivers at the idea of going back, the ghost of her childhood, a naive little girl that no one remembers, haunting the halls of what used to be her home.

She loves Harry, and she will come back, but she's not ready tonight. Hermione is not one to wait, to hope for resolution. Hermione is ambitious and bold, and if she wants peace of mind, it is on no one but herself to get it.

Grabbing her beaded bag, she stomps downstairs to the Floo, thinking Draco had better have left it open, or there will be hell to pay.

* * *

Draco is gazing at the ceiling, silk pants low on his hips, eyes open in the near dark, staring at nothing, as the quiet of his bedroom presses upon him like a shroud.

He should have kissed her again before she left. He should have apologized again. Draco has been over the evening a thousand times, and each time he recounts the night, he finds infinite ways he could have done better.

A pop startles him, two unnaturally large eyes blinking at him from the foot of his bed.

"Master Draco, the Floo was being left open! Pipsy tries to explain Master is sleeping, but stubborn witches is not listening-"

A door slams open to Draco's left, and he is on his feet in a flash. Pipsy mumbles something to the effect of, "Pipsy will let stubborn witches explain," and then he is alone with a seething Hermione Granger, more valkyrie than woman, exuding what must be righteous indignation in waves.

Draco swallows, slightly terrified.

"You can't just… just… _do_ this," she begins, charging into the room and slamming the door behind her. "Do you have any idea what the past few days have been like for me?!"

He's stuck dumb, jaw working but no sounds emitted. When she left, she'd seemed a little melancholy but certainly not this creature of fury and fire before him. He thought they were on their way to forgiveness, understanding. He continues to fail at speech, but that's quite alright since she's still talking.

"You didn't just lie to me, you know. You made me love you… _twice_! I fell in love with _you_ and was completely gone for that little marten! And what you've done," she continues, stalking him like prey, "is take him away from me. And I can never get him back because he doesn't even exist!"

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he tries, though he's said it before. "I never meant-"

"You're sorry, I know. Sorry sorry sorry." She's on him now, one delicate finger jammed into his breastbone. "Well, I need more than sorry, Draco."

In the months since the war, Draco would like to think his reflexes have stayed sharp, yet he is completely caught off guard when her other hand takes hold of the waistband of his trousers and yanks him in close, his pelvis brushing her tummy, her hand trapped between them. "You're going to have to give me more than apologies," she says, her ire evolving into aggression that belies the plea. "I lost something that loved me, and I need you to make up for that."

There are tears standing in her eyes, and he sees her anger for what it is. All the confusion and sorrow and hurt from the previous days have coalesced into something fierce and desperate. She's begging as surely as she is demanding, but Draco would give her anything, and she doesn't even need to ask.

"Fuck, Granger…" He places his palms on her cheeks, tilting her face to his. "I'll love you enough for both of us, witch." Her whimper is consumed when he slants his mouth over hers.

He's backing into his bed on instinct. Hermione is fighting angrily with her jumper, alternating between tearing herself out of her clothes and pushing down at Draco's waistband with insistence. They barely make it to the mattress and she is nude from the waist up, turning them and dragging him on top of her as he toes off the silk legs of his pajamas.

Draco is frantic, working at the button of her denims, never taking his mouth from hers, kissing her so hard, his jaw aches at the pressure. Fuck, he's missed her. He tells her as much in stolen moments when she releases his mouth, whispering his filthy affections in the shell of her ear as he ruts against her apex and searches her skin, scrambling for purchase as much as pleasure. She moans at him when his palm slide across the hardened peak of her breast, so he lingers there, granting more attention and continuing to grind between her legs.

"I love you," he tells her. "Fuck, I love you. I'm never letting you go."

"I love you," she breathes back at him, so lost he's not even sure she hears herself. He switches his attention back to removing her denims, noting the adorable grunt of protest as he removes his hand from her breast.

Sitting up on his haunches, Draco is done fighting with these ungodly tight Muggle trousers. Grabbing his wand from his bedside, his cock at attention between them, he vanishes them with a flourish, making sure to reappear them across the room just for the satisfying effect of hearing them hit the floor.

He drops back atop her, licking a line up her jaw and back to her mouth. Her hands are exploring as well, clinging onto his biceps, running her nails up his back just enough to sting. He kisses harder, tongue pushed deeper, losing himself in her until he feels her hand reach between them, stroking him lightly in spite of the awkward reach.

It is only now, with his wand tossed to the side, that he realizes he should have vanished her knickers as well. Too gone to care, too relieved to wait, he shoves the silky fabric to the side, sliding the tips of two fingers up her slit, reacquainting himself with his lover's warmth.

Her hands are there now as well, guiding and pulling him towards her. Draco isn't fool enough to ask her if she's sure. Hermione Granger never does anything she doesn't want to, so he takes what is offered and sheathes himself inside her, groaning and dropping his forehead to her shoulder.

"Gods, Draco…"

Her breath ruffles his hair, her chest rising with enough violence that it rocks him with each inhale. He moves, slow at first, but only for a moment. Sliding inside her and moaning with each thrust. His speed next is quick, followed closely by erratic, until he's simply fucking her, hard and possessive and punishing, whispers of gratitude and adoration hissed through clenched teeth.

He doesn't warn her when he comes. The build is momentous, taking him by surprise with the speed of it, and he shouts as he rides out the last of his thrusts, holding her so tightly he will hope he didn't hurt her when his mind is his own again.

Draco rolls only infinitesimally to the side, just enough to collapse without crushing her, and pants against her cheek. He tells her again and again that he loves her, praises her and thanks her, begs her not to leave.

He relaxes as she snuggles into his hold, her delicate hand tracing lines along the forearm laid across her breasts.

Eventually, as his breathing settles from desperate pulls of air, Hermione turns her head, nuzzling her nose against his cheek. He takes the cue and turns his neck, finding them nose to nose, her warm, bright eyes locked into his.

"Now, you're forgiven," she says, and Draco squeezes his eyes closed, exhaling in what is as much a laugh as a relieved sob.

"I love you," he says again, because it bears repeating. She answers with a kiss, their sweetest yet, and he doesn't need words to know what this is.

This is Hermione coming home.

He wraps his arms around her, and they sleep until dawn.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CANNOT believe we are at the end! ::lots of crying emojis::
> 
> Thank you so much for following along with me on this story. I've wanted to tackle an animagus piece for so long and I had so much fun with it. I hope you have enjoyed it, that the end is satisfying, and would love to hear from you in a comment if you are so inclined.
> 
> One last outpouring of love for LightofEvolution, the SPaG Beta champion that makes me better every time, In Dreams, forever strong and true alpha who keeps me on target and encourages my progress, and Mcal, professional support team of one who smothers my doubt in pure love.
> 
> And, forever, thank you for reading. Whether this was my first story you have followed or if you've been with me for years, I appreciate you rationing me a piece of your fandom time.

"I'm nervous."

Granger is wringing her hands, eyes darting around the smattering of Muggle pedestrians on the streets. Draco reaches over and separates her twined fingers with his own, taking one of her hands into each of his. "It will be fine," he assures her for the thousandth time. "We don't have to say anything you aren't comfortable with. This can just be an initial meeting if you want."

She nods, but Draco can tell she's hardly hearing the words.

Despite the stress currently weighing on Hermione, and Draco by sympathetic proxy, it's been a beautiful, idyllic six months since Draco outed himself as Benedick.

As they speak, George Weasley is holding down the proverbial fort in the Technologies division of Malfoy industries, working with Natalie to roll out the Wizarding equivalent of a cellular phone. Of course, magic being innately a bit flashy, a small plastic box just wouldn't do. Instead, witches and wizards will carry a small glass sphere with them, swirled with color and imbued with charms and even blood magicks. A bit like a portable Floo, when you call out the name of your intended recipient, provided they also have one of these virtual marbles, an image of their face will glow just above the small bit of glass. Granger calls the visual something like a hologram, but Draco doesn't know what that means.

Lucius Malfoy is not entirely pleased by the level of Muggle influence but is rather happy with the steady rise of the Malfoy Gringotts vault. Regardless that it does him little good directly, still confined to the Manor as he is, he seems to like that Narcissa can treat herself. Though stoic, as is his nature, Draco can tell that the man is proud of the steps the company has made, and Draco is choosing to take that as pride in his son as well.

It might even be true.

The Malfoy family dynamic is far from perfect, Draco hardly the dutiful son nor Lucius the quintessential father, but civility has ruled the Manor. Hermione has even attended formal dinners on a handful of occasions. No one has poisoned her yet, and Lucius seemed quite taken with the gift she brought him: a miniature replication of a Viking ship. As Narcissa tells it, he has made her charm the paint in new colors at least five times so that he might move it about the Manor in search of the perfect place to present it.

Now, walking down Lake Street in Perth, Draco is trying very hard to be the confident one, to be the support he always leans on Hermione to receive. His witch has been with him, a harbor in his tempestuous life. She has held his hand as he found his way to some semblance of family and as he sought to find a purpose in a purposeless post-war life. He wants badly to repay the favour and hopes he has not grossly miscalculated the reactions of Mister and Missus Wendell Wilkins, respectively.

The location to which all their preparation has led is a rather charming home with a fresh white exterior and meticulously kept garden. As they approach, Hermione slows her step, eyes focused on a woman that could only be her mother.

Monica Wilkins née Jean Granger looks up from where she is manicuring foliage, squinting at them as the sun is at their back. "Good afternoon," she calls, shielding her eyes with her palm. "Can I help you?"

Draco feels Hermione falter beside him, and, indeed, she has paused in step. He comes to her rescue, as she would for him without thought. Today, he will be the brave one, bold and sure.

"Good afternoon. Missus Wilkins, is it?" She nods, affirming as to her identity, and he goes on. "We've come from London in regards to your property there. Would you and your husband be able to speak with us?"

"Property?" She wrinkles her brow, considering. "I thought we sold… No, I'm _positive_." She confirms it as if she's sure, but Draco can tell confusion is clouding her thoughts, the Obliviation Spell stretching thin to accommodate what she knows. "We sold the house. Used that to fund this place." She gestures vaguely to the home behind her.

"The property in Hampstead is still there and technically in your name, but that's where it's a bit confusing. If it's no trouble, perhaps we could go over some papers with you?" Draco lifts the leather satchel in his hand, indicating that housed within will be answers to all of her questions.

Jean looks between the two of them, assessing and slightly cautious. He doesn't blame her one bit. "If you wouldn't mind waiting here a moment?"

With a charming smile learned at his mother's formal teas, he nods. "Of course. We appreciate your time and would also be happy to schedule another day."

Throwing them one last suspicious look, she disappears inside the house, leaving Draco and Hermione (who is once again fidgeting).

"She looks wonderful," he hears her say, a little wistful. He can't argue. The woman looks happy and relaxed, tanned and working in her garden without a care.

"You gave them this, Granger," he tells her. "No matter what happens, you gave them the best life you could: safe and happy." He slides his free arm around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss to her temple as she leans into him.

"Is this the right thing? Maybe… Perhaps it would be best to leave. Tell them there was a mistake and just… let them be happy." She sniffles, and he pulls back to look at her.

"They got a _dog_ , remember?" he says with a grin. On cue, a muffled bark is heard within the house. "There's something missing here, they just don't know what. It doesn't have to be on you to decide if they want it back. Let them have that agency."

Hermione nods, looking down at her feet. He pulls her back into a one armed embrace and huffs against her curls. "Ridiculous witch… They're going to love you."

"I've missed them so much," she whispers.

He knows she has. Draco has watched her mourn them for months, alive though they were. He won't let her miss this chance; he loves her too much to let it slip by another day.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names?" They look up to find Jean and now her husband staring at them from just outside the threshold of the door.

Draco pulls away from Hermione, leaving his hand, reassuring, on the small of her back. "Apologies, Missus Wilkins. My name is Draco Malfoy, Wiltshire. My companion is Miss Hermione Granger.'

"Hermione," her father muses at that. "Quite a rare name. Did your parents fancy Shakespeare? Or were they more mythological scholars?"

With a cautious smile, she offers, "It's a family name."

His eyebrow raises. "Rare indeed. It was my grandmother's name as well. Perhaps we have common lineage somewhere in our distant past," he muses, trailing off in thought. "Well, can't have you standing out here, can we? Come in, and we can speak further about this property."

Hermione gives Draco a look to which he tries to respond with encouragement, a smile full of positive thoughts, and they follow the pair into their home. Draco notes it to be well decorated, original artworks on the walls and antique furnishings strategically placed in each room.

They are led to a parlour just beyond the dining room and offered a seat in matching low-backed yet comfortable chairs. They discussed it before they came, and Draco is letting Hermione take the lead as much as she is comfortable. He crosses his leg over his knee and settles back into the cushioned seat. His witch clears her throat to speak.

"Thank you for inviting us to speak with you. Your home is lovely."

"Thank you," Missus Wilkins says, but she still appears slightly withdrawn. Between the two, she seems the least trusting.

Too busy watching her parents for cues, waiting for reactions, he misses the tears forming in Hermione's eyes.

"Young lady, are you quite alright?" Her father seems concerned, and it only makes her cry harder, sobbing in earnest. Draco reaches for her hand, pulling her towards him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles into her hands. "I just need a moment; I'm so sorry. I've missed you both so much."

A fresh wave of tears fall, and her parents exchange a concerned look.

"Have we… met, dear?" The woman seems unsure, brow furrowing. "I must apologize, I just can't place you…"

Every word uttered seems to reignite Hermione's tears. Draco hesitates to step in, having promised he would allow the family to come together on their own, but he feels rather obligated to throw that plan out and improvise.

"I'm afraid we have not been completely honest with you. We are from England, that much is true, and your home is still there in your name, but what we actually need to tell you is that you know Hermione very well. Due to an event you could not control, you have lost portions of your memory, her included."

Draco looks over at Hermione for confirmation as she sniffles and tries to control her breathing. At her nod, Draco looks to Jean Granger to continue.

"Miss Wilkins, in actual fact, your name is Jean Granger. I am aware you cannot remember that, but there are documents that would show you the truth of it. I have copies of some here." He gestures again to his bag. "And you, sir," he looks to Hermione's father, "your name is Frank Granger. You both practiced teeth healing in Belsize Park."

He recognizes his mistake immediately when Jean mutters, "teeth healing?"

"Excuse me, that is to say, you were dentists."

"We _are_ dentists. We moved our practice ages ago," Frank counters, too baffled to comment on the meat of the message, only the details.

Hermione finds her voice, clinging to Draco's hand as she speaks. "I'm so very sorry I haven't been able to bring you back," she tells them. "The truth is, you don't remember who you are, or who I am, but… you're my parents."

The tension has stretched to breaking point, Draco concerned that they might be asked to leave, before Jean laughs heartily. "Young lady, that's the most ridiculous thing… I appreciate a good lark, but you can't expect me to believe any of this?"

Her laughs tapers off since no one joins her.

Hermione reaches for the satchel at Draco's feet and extracts a folder stuffed full of parchments. "This is a copy of my birth certificate as well as the documents for the Hampstead house." She hands them over, her mother taking them with trepidation back on her face. "You can see the name of the owners since 1978 reads Francis and Jean Granger. That's you…"

Jean hands the document to her husband, bewildered but listening.

Hermione continues to pass papers and documents over, rapid fire. "These are your passports from a few years ago. You can see your names, the Grangers, just there." She hands Frank a slim frame that contains an aged photo of a younger man. "This used to hang at your practice. The photo was from your last day at university." Next is a large photograph from a wedding that features a young Hermione in a frilly gown scowling up at Jean Granger. "That was from-"

"Archie's wedding," her mother supplies, then immediately isn't sure what to do with the words she's just spoken. "Archie… Well, I haven't thought of him in years." Her face is starting to look haunted, the more she sees.

Frank takes the photo from her hand, studies it, then looks back up to Hermione. "The girl?"

She nods, replying softly, "That's me. I hated that dress, but you promised me a book if I would wear it. _Black Beauty_ … I still have the copy at the Hampstead house."

She continues, almost rushing now, as if this is painful, ripping a plaster from a wound. Schooling certificates, family photographs, and various legal documents; all with either a photograph of one or more of the Grangers or their names in print; all associated with memories they still hold, corrupted though they are.

When she is finished, the satchel empty and Granger looking equally drained, she sets it aside and grips Draco's hand tightly, watching her parents with wary anticipation as they continue to sift and flip through all the contents spilled between them.

"Photographs are easy enough to doctor," her father says, but it's half hearted, even Draco can tell.

"Government documents, not as much," Hermione counters in a small voice. She sounds terrified, and Draco pulls her close, his arm around her shoulder and her hand held tightly in his.

"How could we…" Jean sounds incredulous, taking in all of the information spread on the sofa and low table beside her, then looks up and asks, "How could we forget our child?"

He knows that will be the moment. Draco closes his eyes tight, positive his witch will break. She takes a shaky breath beside him but somehow holds it together enough to say, "There's so much more I can show you if you can believe at least this much."

They all stare at each other, Draco feeling a bit like an intruder on the moment. It was wizards like him that made all this happen. Hermione wanted him here, she had said, but he never felt like he had the right. He came for her, because she asked him to, but he wishes she had someone better right now.

"She looks like you, Monica," Frank finally says to his wife, suspicious but awed, and that is when Hermione fully breaks.

* * *

She's quite embarrassed about it, really. Hermione had blubbered like a child, burying his face in Draco's shirt, he petting her and holding her all the while.

Eventually, as the tears had tapered off, the Wilkins had offered her use of the loo, and she had gratefully accepted.

"Don't mind Thor," her father had said of the sudden bark from the back of the house. "He's only excited because he knows someone is here."

Now, she is staring at herself in the mirror, lamenting the blotchy quality of her skin and redness of her eyes. She fluffs at her hair, but that's a lost cause as well. With a sigh, she returns to the sitting room to find Draco leaning close and talking quietly with her parents.

"I apologize," she says as she slips back into her seat. Draco leans back to create the safe place in which he is tucked, settling her shoulder into him and soaking up his warmth.

"Your young man was just telling us that you met in school. A boarding school where we sent you, allegedly."

Her breathing picks up. This is happening very fast. School means Hogwarts, and Hogwarts leads to magic, and ultimately, that is what she is terrified to explain. She has to somehow make them believe her and then immediately beg for forgiveness. They would have been hard pressed to forgive her even when they knew her. Now…

She steadies herself, trying to stem the panic rising in her gullet. "If this is all too much, we could come back another time. Take this slow."

Her parents exchange a look. "No," her father says. "I do believe I'd like to hear what else you have to say. As you can imagine, I don't think I'd be able to sleep if I didn't hear absolutely everything. Then we can decide if this is all just some cruel hoax. Certainly unbelievable enough to be," he grumbles out at the end.

"You've not said," her mother begins, "how we lost our memories. You seem to skirt that bit. Don't think I haven't noticed you are trying to evoke an emotional response without any logical facts to back it up." She gestures at the piles of parchments. "Photos and family memories: all well and good, but surely you have something more if you expect us to believe this farce."

Hermione has always admired her mother. A strong and intelligent professional, she had always respected her forthright manner and unwavering confidence. The greatest surprise of her life was when her parents welcomed Minerva McGonagall into their home and somehow believed her every word. Today, Hermione has to be McGonagall, and she hopes she is convincing.

With a look to Draco, pleading for his strength and solidarity which he offers back in a squeeze of his hand and affection in his gaze, Hermione pulls her wand from the deep pocket of her outerwear, slowly as not to startle.

She takes a deep breath and speaks. "When I was eleven years old, a woman came to speak with us at our home. She was the deputy-headmistress of the school where I would attend with Draco." She gestures to the wizard, and he dips his head in acknowledgement.

"Professor McGonagall explained to us that I was invited to a special school called Hogwarts. You were concerned about me finishing at South Hampstead, but she assured you they couldn't offer me what I needed."

Hermione raises her wand and casts a silent _Leviosa_ on the documents beside her mother. The pile lifts itself and settles into the satchel that Hermione is holding open in her lap. The Wilkins are gaping at her, and she continues her demonstration, flicking a charm to open the curtains wider, sunlight streaming in, then summoning the papers from her father's side of the sofa, repeating her clean up of the mess they've made.

"I'm not sure why it happened, no one is entirely sure, but, even though you can't, I can perform magic. Not parlour tricks and sleight of hand, either. I can cast actual spells through a wand or possibly another focus if I practiced enough. Hogwarts taught me how to wield it, what incantations to use, and the limits of what I can do."

They look frightened now, and it breaks her heart. They were never afraid when Minerva came to call.

"Perhaps, it would be best if you left," her mother says, and fresh tears fall down Hermione's cheeks. She's buoyed, however, when her father speaks.

"No… no, I think I'd like to hear more, actually." He looks at Jean and raises his eyebrows at her. "What if it's true?" he asks almost too quietly to hear. "She looks just like you… has my hair. Won't you always wonder?"

They stare at each other for a long time, tense and speaking volumes without words. Hermione is holding her breath, not even sure what she hopes for. The next step is a hard one. It might be better to give them a few days to process everything she's said. Then again, if she leaves, they may never allow her back in their vicinity again.

Finally, her mother sets her mouth into a grim line but nods to her husband. He turns back to Hermione and asks, "If you can do magic, then, can you fix our memories? If we are who you say, can't you… spell them back to us?"

Hermione shakes her head sadly. "Some things even magic can't fix. But I can show you memories. Like watching a film, you could see what I remember. It's not as good as getting your own back, of course, but you could at least know things that have happened."

"And how would—" Her mother clears her throat, seeming affected and unsure. "How would you do that?"

Looking at Draco, he accepts the cue with a nod and pulls an object from his pocket along with his own wand. Hermione hears her parents take a surprised breath when he taps the shrunken item and it grows to standard size in the middle of the tidy Muggle living room. "This is called a Pensieve," he explains to them, keeping his voice low and soothing. "Hermione can use this to show you memories that she has selected of you."

"Couldn't this… I don't know… jog our memory?" her father asks, to which Hermione shakes her head sadly.

"It's not like head trauma or a mental block. These memories… You no longer have them. Not deep down." Her voice drops ever lower, ashamed and contrite. "Not at all. They're just… gone."

They stare at her in a way Hermione could only call horrified, and she knows that they suspect the truth: that magic took their memories. That their daughter is somehow to blame.

She is surprised, then, when her father gives a decisive clap with his hands and stands from the sofa. "Well, then, how do we turn this thing on? Do we just… look here? In this bowl part?"

Standing with him, Hermione reaches into her own pocket for the vial she has prepared then looks to her mother. "It might be easier if you see it together," she offers, not wanting to push, but hoping they can lean on each other during the experience. She imagines this will be incredibly jarring and almost wishes she had waited for another day.

But keeping this possibility away from them when they are asking for more seems dishonest, and she will never lie to them, never keep anything from them. Honesty is her only possible penance for the damage she's done.

For a moment, she expects her mother to refuse, but then, the woman slowly rises and stands by her husband, across the Pensieve from their stranger daughter.

Hermione tips the vial toward the surface and watches the liquid silver of her memory pour in a swirl, glimmering under the Muggle electric lights. "I'll need you to take my hands," she says softly, offering her palms up to each of them. They both hesitate an almost equal amount of time before taking her hands gingerly, an expectant look on both of their faces.

* * *

Draco watches his witch and her family as they are sucked into the Pensieve, the home suddenly eerie in its silence. He looks around, studying the home. Having lived with Hermione for some time, Muggle life is no longer as jarring as it once was, and so he is able to look over the odds and ends of electronics and focus more on the house itself. Her parents, he will say, have rather refined taste. A piece of art on the wall grabs his attention.

Rising and approaching, he finds himself staring at a painting done with heavy strokes, indicative of impasto style. Draco has always found this style to bring with it a certain temptation, a need to follow the lines with his fingertips. He traces them instead with his eyes, ridges of greens and whites forming a still life of foliage in a crude vase.

The distraction is welcome and allows him to focus elsewhere rather than the hammering of his heart, nerves for his witch welling up in his chest. She's suffered a long time without them. No magical way to heal their minds, convincing them to learn her all over again was their only recourse.

He drifts, eyeing a decorative bowl here, an arrangement of flora there, and stops when he reaches something that is entirely out of place. On a low table in their entry way, the Wilkins have what appears to be an old book hardly notable enough to be meant for display. On a hunch, Draco waves his wand over the surface, murmuring a quick _Finite_ , and watches the cover take on the luster of a newer tome. Lifting it to look through, he finds a series of Muggle photographs, mostly of the couple in their earlier years. It appears Hermione had left them something of themselves after all. But why hide it?

On the last page, he finds his answer. The final photo, with words scrawled beneath 'And then we were complete,' is an exhausted looking Monica née Jean holding an infant Hermione in what looks like an infirmary bed. Standing proudly to her side, her husband looks down at them both with a smile on his lips.

He is heartened, looking at their faces. Surely they will be able to find that same adoration for their daughter, even without their memories.

Carrying it back with him, Draco sits once again to wait for the pensieve.

* * *

Hermione stands behind her parents in the memories, keeping her current form out of their field of view as they watch the scenes before them. She is a toddler, a child, a young girl, all moments selected for their importance to her. She watches as young parents cook together, cuddle beside one another on the sofa, read books sitting up in bed. The child pounces on them when they are idle, asks questions when she is curious (which is all the time), hugs them, smiles. They were happy, she knows, but it is something else entirely to watch it all happen again. Will they ever be able to find a relationship again? Will they forgive her for this? Her childhood was charmed, and she stole their memories of what exceptional parents they were.

Her eyes well over, and she brushes the tears away, not wanting to miss a moment as she lives all this again. They are her memories, but watching them play out in a pensieve is almost more visceral than playing it in her head.

As the last memory fades, they are all left standing in a grey void, and Hermione lays a hand on each of her parents' shoulders, the ether sucking them back up into their home.

She drops her hands, and they still have not turned to look at her, but Draco is there. Steadfast and assured, he wraps his arms around her and tucks her head beneath his chin, enveloping her in such comfort, that she is able to dry her tears before they fall in earnest, breathing deep against his chest.

He releases her finally when her father clears his throat.

Her family is there, looking at her in awe and confusion, tears standing in her mother's eyes.

"You'll forgive me," her father starts, "but I just need a moment."

Hermione nods, and they all sit once again, her parents less agitated than before but a far cry from relaxed.

"How does this…" Her mother gestures to the pensieve from which they've just emerged. "How does this work? Is it like a projection? A recording?"

Shaking her head, Hermione answers, "It's magic. I can't explain in terms you understand. Or any terms. These are my memories, plucked right from my head."

Beside her, Draco shifts and lays a book on the low table between all of them. "I found this," he says, and looks at Hermione to pick up the gauntlet.

"I forgot I'd left this here," she breathes out, reaching for it. Instead of picking it up, she nudges it further away, toward her mother on the other side. "You would have thought this was just an old art book." With a wave of her wand, the cover changes to a study of Van Gogh, supposedly printed in 1920. Another wave and it becomes her family's photo album once again.

At the look on her father's face, she quickly adds, "Don't worry, I have the real book in England." It had been her father's favourite.

Her mother lifts the book and opens it on her lap, shifting it off center so her husband can see it as well. Hermione watches their faces, and they see their lives go by, looking at memories they have retained. Glancing over the top of the album, she sees their last day at university, a trip to Spain, their wedding… memories that Hermione only knows from stories, but that are still fresh in the Wilkins' minds. Her mother starts to smile, her father chuckling at a photo of his wife covered in flour that he himself had been guilty of spilling. It's a story Hermione knows well, her father always happy to tell it.

On the last page, their smiles fade, and they stare at their family, now three instead of two.

Hermione clears her throat. "There are no photos of you pregnant," she tells her mother. "You hated looking not yourself, and you wouldn't let anyone take any." She looks to her father next and adds, "But you took one while she wasn't looking. I still have it in England. She wouldn't let you put it in the book."

The room is quiet again, Hermione feeling grounded by Draco's hand in hers, his thumb drawing lines across her knuckles. It's her mother that breaks the silence once again. Hermione thinks she got her Gryffindor bravery from her maternal side.

"What did you…" trailing off and clearing her throat, there is no question that the woman is affected. "What do you think happens from here? We don't even know you… and you're asking us to believe _so_ much."

"I know," she whispers back, looking away. "I'm so sorry. I was hoping we might… get to know one another? I hoped you might want to know about me."

"I think you should stay for dinner." Her father sounds decisive, bold. Perhaps Gryffindor runs on both sides.

"We really don't want to impose—" she begins, and both her parents laugh.

"You just shook up our entire lives," her mother says, laughing though a little incredulous. "I don't think setting out another couple of plates is too much of a bother."

"We would love to, Mister and Missus Wilkins." Hermione turns to Draco as he speaks, surprised at his easy acceptance. "You can ask us anything you would like. Hermione can tell you about your family, and I'll be happy to tell you anything about the magical world that is so lucky to have Hermione as a part of it."

"I'm quite curious about that," her father says to Draco. "Is that common? People doing magic when their families don't?"

He shakes his head in response. "Not at all. Your daughter is a rarity in so many ways." Hermione blushes at his praise.

"I'll just order some take away," her mother interjects. "I can't imagine you are used to much else if I allegedly raised you." Still a bit of bite to her tone, Hermione knew her mother would be the tough one, but she takes the comment as a win that she's even considering the truth of it.

With a smile, she agrees, "We had a lot of curry. And Chinese. Pizza when you were feeling particularly casual."

Her father laughs at that. "Sounds about right, Monica."

The name is wrong, but it's her parents all over, and Hermione smiles just the same.

* * *

Dinner is difficult but not terrible. Small talk is made, and the Grangers as they are now learn about the pieces of each other they've missed. Hermione tells them about their family from the perspective of her childhood, and her parents tell her about their life as it is now.

The infamous dog makes an appearance toward the end and takes an immediate liking to Hermione. Draco resolves that he will make sure she has a new familiar as soon as they return to England. She had wanted time to mourn initially, she'd said, but the way she had giggled as the brute licked her silly tells Draco that she's ready.

He wraps his arm around his lover's shoulders as they walk away from the house, her parents watching them from their front door.

"It wasn't awful," she says, more trying to convince herself than anything.

"It wasn't," he agrees, holding her tighter. "They seemed more comfortable by the end."

"Maybe lunch tomorrow will be better."

Draco nods, grateful all over again that Frank Granger had warmed considerably over the meal and initiated another meeting for the next day. "It will always get better from here," he promises.

Hermione doesn't reply, so he stops her once they are out of sight of the house and places his hands on her neck, thumbs petting her jawline. "Hey. They loved you before, and they will again. They already like you."

She laughs softly, and a weight seems to slough off her shoulder. "How can you tell?"

"Please, I'm incredibly observant. It's a Slytherin trait."

"Or a mustelid," she counters, and he kisses her, slow and thorough, quieting her snark.

He pulls back, dropping one last peck to the tip of her nose. "Do you think they would like to meet Benedick?" he quips, and it is a testament to how far they've come when she giggles.

"I think that dog of theirs would eat you in one bite, matter of fact. Let's just take this slow. Maybe no human transfiguration until they've come to terms."

Draco leads them back into a moderate pace and takes her hand. "Spoilsport," he accuses, all affection in his tone.

"Ferret," she replies, and squeezes his fingers in her own.

True to Draco's word, the next day is a little bit better, and the next a bit more. Just like every day since he found a pretty witch crying by a cold lake, and he knows this is just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
